


Name of the Game

by madness_on_the_milano



Series: The Flora Colossi and the Enhanced Procyonid [11]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Brother-Sister Relationships, Enemies to Friends, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, Past Abuse, Regret, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:28:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 33
Words: 74,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23467339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madness_on_the_milano/pseuds/madness_on_the_milano
Summary: What was meant to be an easy assignment got Rocket sent back to Halfworld for a surprise reunion with his not-so-dead creator. A whole bunch of painful truths later and he's not much closer to closure than he was before. But one thing's for sure. The Kree warlord who commissioned him wants more Uplifted weapons. And Rocket isn't about to stand back and let it happen.
Relationships: Aleta Ogord/Stakar Ogord, Blackjack O'Hare & Rocket Raccoon, Drax the Destroyer & Rocket Raccoon, Kraglin Obfonteri & Rocket Raccoon, Lylla & Rocket Raccoon, Mantis & Rocket Raccoon, Peter Quill & Rocket Raccoon, Rocket Raccoon & Groot, Rocket Raccoon & Original Character(s)
Series: The Flora Colossi and the Enhanced Procyonid [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1020855
Comments: 49
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let the games begin!

This was entirely, without doubt, Quill’s fault. If the moron had made up a better plan than the one he’d actually come up with, then maybe Rocket would have considered following it. Instead, he’d been forced, almost, to make up his own plan as they had boarded a Kree warship known as Darkwing.   
He had been meant to go right and Mantis left. Stupid idea. The left side of the ship was clearly the busiest area. It was true with most Kree warships due to the simple fact that they had most room, with the large engines taking up most space on the right sides. So he had convinced her with worrying ease that she was meant to take the right side. All she would encounter was an engineer, maybe some low-ranking officer making the rounds. Nothing she couldn’t handle. He'd never thought, not even for a second, that the instinct to keep her from turning left was an instinct that he should have listened to for himself. He hadn't thought he would come face-to-face with Kylam, the warlord they had been sent to spy on. 

That hadn't even been the worst part. Was there even just one worst part? Between thinking he could take on a Kree warlord by himself and learning that the warlord was none other than the buyer Gavaar had been intending to hand him off to, he couldn't choose just one. 

Oh, wait. He had a very high chance of never seeing his family again. That was definitely the worst part.

Quill was probably going apeshit back on their ship. No, scratch that, Drax was definitely going apeshit. Quill was probably doing that silently freaking out thing he did when stuff like this happened. They would be okay and Rocket knew they would eventually pull themselves together (with help from Gamora, no doubt), so he didn’t feel too bad for them. Groot, however, he felt horrible for. How many times had he seen one of his family taken away, or been greeted by five people when there should have been six? God. The kid was going to need serious therapy at this point.

There were footsteps coming his way. Kylam would be in soon. Then at least Rocket would finally be able to put his escape plan into action. There was a vent above his head, almost unnoticeable unless you were really looking. It was pretty small, but he was confident he could squeeze through it. The lights on the lock blinked from red to green and he sat against the wall, resting his elbows on his knees, refusing to give the Kree any idea that he had any kind of hold over him.   
The door slid open noiselessly and the light from the hallway was dimmed, showing only the shadowed outline of a tall, dark-clad man. "You should not have done that."

"I'm a weapon, remember?"

"You do not attack your master."

"If I ever get one, I'll be sure to remember that."

Kylam walked further into the cell. The door shut with a barely audible thud. _"I_ am your master. You will not attack me again."

"I learned my lesson from the last time, so don't worry about that." If he had a gun with him, he wouldn't have thought twice about shooting him, but he had no defences that would be of much use against the warlord in his cell. 

Kylam huffed lightly. "That is good to hear. I am glad to have you in my keeping after all these years, even if our first meeting wasn't pleasant." He folded his arms over his chest and looked down at Rocket with eyes that softly gleamed their amethyst hue. "You're much longed for. Do you wish to know what is that I'm planning?"

It wasn't like he had anything else to do, so he figured he'd agree. "What?"

"I'm planning on having more weapons just like you. Uplifts are incredibly useful in war. Made well, they will appear as beasts, but have the cunning and ability of a soldier. You were made exceptionally well. No one else has managed to make an Uplift of such perfection."

Rocket breathed out. "Then you're gonna have a long wait until some jackass makes another good one. Gavaar can't make one for you. I killed him."

"Did you?" Kylam asked. He let his arms lower and put a hand in his pocket. "Are you sure of this, little weapon?"

"I tore chunks of flesh from his body and stabbed him in the face. There's no way he's alive."

Kylam chuckled. The sound was low, genuinely amused, and chilled Rocket to his core. He pulled something from his pocket and slid it over to Rocket. It was a small device with numbers on its screen. "Read this and then tell me if he's dead or alive."

Rocket was able to pick it up with just one hand. His heart thumped painfully in his chest and then quickened as he read what was on the screen.

**15**

**STATUS: LIVING**   
**LOCATION: K214T7HS9-3461009-12**   
**GENDER: MALE (NEUTERED)**   
**AGE: 23y9m**   
**SPECIES: AAKONIAN**   
**VISION (RE)…..20%**   
**VISION (LE)…..0%**   
**HEART…..74%**   
**LUNGS…..71%**   
**LIVER…..67%**

Kylam must have noticed Rocket's confusion about the number at the top of the screen. "Fifteen," he said, "is the number I knew your father by."

Rocket slammed the device on the floor with all the strength he had. "He was not my father! He had zero interest in being one and made that pretty clear from the start."

Kylam chuckled again. "You will have a chance to discuss the past with him soon enough. We are heading to your home planet now, little weapon. Soon I will have other Uplifts brought there in hopes that they can be perfected. Even you aren't finished, 89P13."

"Trust me, you don't want me there. 'Cause if I ever see that prick again, I'll finish the damn job!"

Kylam shook his head, the movement deliberately slow. "No. If you mean that now after all these years, you certainly would have meant it back then. I don't deny that you were angry with him, but there's a certain desperation that leads to a son killing his father. Or a father killing his son. You can ask Fifteen about that. You will have plenty of time to ask him questions."

"Maybe I won't kill him. Maybe he'll help me kill you."

Kylam smirked. "He is frail and weakened by now. You've seen for yourself that most of his organs are starting to shut down, so he won't be of any help to you.

Besides, Fifteen knows better than to attack me."

"Why do you call him that?"

"It's an affectionate nickname. I shortened it from Fifteen Days because that is how long it took for him to accept me as his master. He was the most stubborn eight year old I've ever met."

_'I'm eight too, you son of a bitch._ I'll _show you stubborn.'_ Rocket thought. "That's kinda sick of you," he said. "I bet you did some bad things to make him accept you."

"Few people can withstand me for long. I respect those who do."

Rocket wondered if he would get a nickname from Kylam when he escaped the Darkwing. He let the back of his head rest against the wall behind himself. "How far are we from the lab?"

"I have deliveries to receive before we go. The equipment there is aged and undoubtedly useless and your technician is almost entirely blind. I cannot keep the Darkwing in one place for long for fear of spies, so I cannot say how close we will be to Halfworld before we go there. Two weeks at minimum, but I hope to be there in a month's time."

Rocket glanced at the device on the floor. "Could I hang onto this?"

"I suppose the health monitor will at least keep you occupied for the duration. I will expect it back tonight." 

_'Too bad, because it won't be here tonight and neither will I.'_ Rocket didn't say that outloud, though. He just pulled it a little closer. 

"You will call me Master in future. A loss of freedom takes time to adjust to, but you will adjust."

Rocket glared at him and pretended to focus his attention on the device, his ears perking upwards at the sound of the door closing. Sure enough, no Kylam, and he got to his feet, head spinning slightly. This was a bad time to escape, but he was damned if he was staying on the warship a second longer. He was especially damned if he was going to see Gavaar again. Let Kylam find him and do what he wanted. Rocket was just sorry he couldn't watch.

He looked around the cell again, taking in its thick steel walls, the thin vents running along the tops of those walls. The door would be easy to hack into. Too easy. Rocket couldn’t see any shadow blocking the delicate line of light underneath the door, but he would bet his life that Kylam had guards there. No camera. Why bother? A Kree warship was not designed for prisoners. Cells were used just to hold prisoners until they could be killed, tortured and killed, or sold on. No need to film any of that. He put his hand on the cold seamless wall and took several steps back before running at the wall, jumping and kicking at it with the flat of his feet to aid momentum. He grabbed upward at the metal bars of the vent and squeezed through, having to stifle a heavy coughing fit as clouds of dust puffed up from the icy metal beneath his body. 

Crawling forward, he kept the claws on his toes up, not wanting to risk being heard. Subtlety was essential here, the last thing he needed was for some Kree asshole to hear him and start shooting through the ceiling. It grew darker, the further he crawled, and even more cramped until he wasn’t even sure he was actually moving anymore. Then he started thinking of just how the hell Gax had managed to look after himself while 80% blind for seven years when Rocket was having a hell of a time navigating a vent in pitch black despite having excellent eyesight. He stopped trying to move, breathing through his mouth, even though he could now taste the dust in the air. _‘You should’ve told me everything, Gax,’_ he thought. _‘Why didn’t you tell me?’_  
He already knew the answer to that. Who wanted to admit they were afraid? Then again, look at all the damage it did to hide it.   
Rocket closed his mouth. He breathed through his nose, closing his eyes. He was scared. Who wouldn’t be? But he was going to get out. He was going to get out. He just had to keep moving and focus on that simple fact. Opening his eyes, he focused on what was ahead, moving painfully slowly, as he progressed through the vent. 

_Think of Groot._   
_Think of Drax._   
_Think of Quill._   
_Think of Gamora._   
_Think of Mantis._   
_Think of Kraglin._   
_And, what the hell, think of Nebula._

Ahead there was a light. The vent widened and he approached his exit, peering down into what appeared to be the communication area for the ship. Kylam was nowhere to be seen and the only one present was a pink-skinned Kree who was watching a soap opera on a small screen. Rocket rolled his eyes and began to climb down, landing noiselessly on his feet. The Kree didn’t notice that he was no longer alone until Rocket had relieved him of his blaster and had the business end of it pressed to his neck. “You deserve to die for watching this shit.”

"If you kill me, your master will be furious with you."

"Didn't you know? I'm the weapon he's been wanting for years. See you in hell." He pulled the trigger, spraying blue blood across the room. Now he had limited time and he knew better than to waste it. The blaster he held was at full charge, designed to last for a full day, the first break he’d had since coming onto the damned ship. 

It was the only break he needed.

He ran to the doors and found himself in the same hallway he had entered the ship on. Break two. He kept both ears out for voices and followed his memory to the shipbay where he and his family had docked their ship when they had boarded. The ship wasn’t there, but that was okay. All he needed was a pod and he quickly located one with his eyes. Sliding the door open, he jumped in, started the engine and was about to go when he noticed something large and blue in his peripheral vision. Kylam. He turned his head and met the amethyst eyes as he edged the pod back. The Kree was armed and Rocket patted the blaster he’d stolen, trying to show that he wasn’t afraid to fight back.

“So,” Kylam said, his voice full of calm rage. “You would escape, would you?”

“I will.”

“As we speak, this pod is being controlled by someone other than you. Did you really think I would chance losing you again?” The Kree smiled as Rocket tried the controls, all of which were now useless. “Every pod can be overridden and remotely controlled. I said I would have you perfected and perfected you will be.” He walked closer, placing his enormous blue palm against the glass window of the pod. “Tell your father it was me who sent you to back to him. Let him know that I expect results. Goodbye for now, my little weapon.”

The engines of the pod roared and their force sent Rocket flying back. Blackness stretched toward him and his lungs felt as if they were inflated with panic and terror at what he was being flown towards. Flittered images of the world he’d been born on came to his mind. Green-grey with patches of pale blue. Red skies. Buildings in white metal. His creator. He searched through his pockets, desperately, trying to find something to drive into his throat or swallow too much of, anything to end his life before he ended up back where he’d come from. There was nothing. There was no choice. He found his comms device and held it close to his chest, closing his eyes as he thought of the only man who had ever been deserving of the title ‘Dad’. He didn’t know how long he stayed there, holding onto the device and his memories of his family, but when he opened his eyes, ground was coming up fast to meet him and, in seconds, everything shattered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Gamora discuss ways to find Rocket. Gakhsi gets a surprise.

To say that Peter was slowly going insane would be an understatement. The Darkwing was gone, like it had never existed and on it was one of his goddamn family members. He could hope that Rocket had somehow escaped the Kree, but the truth was, he didn’t know. And if Rocket had escaped, there were Ravager factions combing through parts of the Kree Empire, on the lookout for stray pods or, better yet, the Darkwing. He rubbed at his eyes which were sore from lack of blinking and, if he was honest, lack of sleep. 

He had to find Kylam. Drax had been all for the idea of hunting the warlord down and torturing the information out of him. Peter would have agreed to it, if it hadn’t been for the fact that the Kree wasn’t to be messed with. Not like that, in any case.

He abandoned his seat and went to find Gamora. She was in the kitchen drinking what smelled like an extremely strong cup of coffee. “You leave any for the rest of us?”

“One granule.”

Leaning against the counter, he watched her. She watched him back, waiting for him to say it. He felt like she already knew, but she wasn’t in the mood to force it out of him. She was tired, too. “I was thinking about…this. I know we gotta be careful with Kylam, but if we get enough numbers, we can storm his ship. We can get Rocket back.”

“Where would we get those numbers from?”

“Because of Rocket, Stakar got to say goodbye to Yondu. He’s grateful for that.”

Gamora lowered her cup, looking into its depths thoughtfully. “You’d be suggesting a battle to him. He could lose men. Kylam could decide to kill Rocket to punish us. It’s risky, Peter.”

It was, but Peter couldn’t think of anything else. “Do you have any ideas?”

“I was thinking about Gavaar.”

“He’s dead. Even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t help Rocket. Why are you thinking about the jerk anyway?”

“Who was it that took him from Oorg?”

It took Peter some time to understand what she was asking him. He frowned, trying to think. “I don’t know. I never asked anybody.”

“What if Kylam was the one who....commissioned Rocket?”

“No, I mean…we would know. The Aakonian government would have known who killed their kids and kept Gavaar. They would’ve let _us_ know, right?”

Gamora shook her head. “The situation around him becoming a slave is…wrong. A Kree storms the planet, murdering citizens and steals twenty children. Nineteen of them are found dead, but one. What happened to that _one?_ Why didn’t they reach out to their allies, or make contact with the Kree government to find out the truth?”

“Gamora,” Peter reached out to her. “Are you sure this hasn’t got anything to do with…?”

“Half of my population died out. My planet was left in disarray. The Aakonians were hurt, but they weren’t so hurt that they couldn’t try to search for the one unaccounted child.”

“Okay.” Peter kept her gaze, thought her eyes were burning with pain that it hurt to look at. She hadn’t denied that her thoughts were related to what had led to her becoming Thanos’ daughter. She understood her world’s inability to search for her, but that would never mean it didn’t hurt. “What do you think we should do?”

“Find out for certain who took Gavaar. If it was Kylam, we'll know to keep searching for him. If it wasn't...we'll find who it was and search for them instead."

"Kylam doesn't strike me as a team player." But maybe she had a point. If they were looking for the wrong man, they weren't doing right by Rocket. "Who do we contact for that information?"

Gamora thought for a couple of seconds. "He had a sister. Call her."

* * *

  
**HALFWORLD**

Smoke poured upwards into the sky. Gakhsi couldn’t see much, but he could see that much. Armed with a sizable stick, he edged toward the fallen spacecraft. No telling what might be in it. It could just have been a satellite that had gotten itself sucked into the orbit of the planet and hadn’t been able to escape. Closer inspection revealed it to be half of a pod, the rest of it shattered and littering the surrounding grass. A Kree pod, which concerned him, but when he climbed onto it and peered into the seating area, nobody was there. He thought he was still entirely alone until he heard what was undeniably a raspy breath. Looking ahead, his eyes picked out something grey and soft-looking, lying amongst shards of broken glass and dry earth. He stepped down from the pod and let the stick fall from his grasp as he realised what, or who, he was seeing.

It was his little test subject.

The scars on his abdomen screamed a warning as he stepped closer to him, but he ignored them. Crouching beside the Uplift’s prone figure, he reached out to touch him, feeling fur that was softer than he remembered. 89P13 had gotten bigger, stronger, but he was here. Why was he here? Gakhsi looked back at the pod and then up at the skies. Something was wrong. But he couldn’t leave 89P13 out for the elements to attack. He could feel blood leaking onto his hands. Whatever had led to him returning, it hadn't been good.

“What happened to you?” he asked aloud, even though he was aware that it would be some time before his Uplift fully woke up and, perhaps, even more until he could answer any questions. Ignoring his own instincts, he lifted the test subject from where he lay and began walking the distance back to the laboratory.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guardians learn who commissioned Rocket. Gakhsi makes a decision. Drax gets reassurance from Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fairly OC-centric, as Gax's sister tells the story of him going missing, but it is integral to the story as a whole. It's the only OC-centric chapter in the whole shebang, I promise.

"You're positive this is the right Akhila this time?" Kraglin asked wearily as Peter pressed a new code into the keypad. 

"No, but I'm still gonna try her." Who knew there were so many Akhilas? He'd called thirty in the past two hours and if the thirty-first turned out to be anything but Aakonian, he didn't know what he was going to do. He lowered his head, hiding a yawn as the screen pulsed with light. "Please be her, please be her..." He could feel Gamora squeezing his shoulder in solidarity and was glad of her touch. In his peripheral, he could see Mantis staring anxiously at the screen.

"Hello?"

Lifting his head, Peter blinked against the black circles that spiralled before his eyes. "Hey, um...Akhila Gavaar?"

"Falaan," the woman said coolly and Peter could see the yellow of her skin, large eyes of pale blue. She did not look impressed. "That was my father's last name. You should have done better research on me, shouldn't you?"

"Huh? Research?"

"You're not the first to call and ask me what it's like to have had a brother like mine. I have a little girl who is now a social pariah because of people like you and a pregnancy that is now classed as high-risk. Don't call this number again. Go to hell and tell my brothers I hate them both. Goodbye-"

"Wait." 

Peter turned in his seat to watch Drax as he stepped in. The man had been unusually, worryingly quiet for the past day and the word he'd spoken was the first since he told them of Rocket's last call. When Peter had told him what the plan was, he hadn't been entirely sure he was actually listening.

"What?" Akhila asked.

Drax walked up to the screen, his eyes on her. "My son is missing, Akhila Falaan. I need your help to find him."

"Why mine? I don't know your son. In my womb, I have two sons of my own to worry about, so-"

"Your twin designed him."

She stopped talking, her mouth still forming whatever word she had been about to say. She closed her mouth, looking guilty. "How can I help?"

"We need to know what happened the day your twin was taken."

Akhila leaned back. She wasn't looking at them now, her eyes looking to her right. She closed them and breathed out sharply. "You know what happened. The Kree came down. My little brother hid me from them. He was presumed dead, but turned out to have been a traitor to our planet. And he made something he shouldn't have made."

"Look at me." Drax was using the voice he typically saved for Mantis. It must have worked because Akhila looked at him again. "I know you're hurt and people have been cruel to your family, but we won't be. What your twin did wasn't your fault."

Akhila hugged her bump as if to protect it from the words being spoken. "I was his older sister. If I'd protected him instead...That's how it's meant to be. I failed him."

Drax shook his head. "Rocket is nearly eight years old. My daughter is...older than that. I've never asked her age. However old she is, Rocket makes sure that she's safe and she does the same thing for him. That's what siblings do. They protect each other, regardless of age. You did not fail your twin. I promise you."

Akhila half-smiled. "My daughter is nearly eight, too. She likes to remind me of that when she feels like I'm babying her."

Drax looked briefly puzzled, probably at the word 'babying', but ignored whatever was confusing him to say; "I know the Kree are a brutal people. I lost family to them, similar to you. I know it hurts to think back on your loss, but I need you to tell me what happened. Every detail could be important."

"It's a long story. It's not nice."

"Tell me. Please."

Akhila rubbed her hands over her pregnant stomach. "It started," she said quietly, "with our father. He was an old, old man when we were born and Gakhsi and me, we just thought our papa was older than most other people's." She shrugged. "I mean, it happens, right?"

Thinking of his own, millenia-old father, Peter nodded. "It happens."

"He was a good father to us. He loved us, more than anything. But in the summer we turned eight, he told us something that changed our lives. He told us that we had a brother, born years before we were. In fact, our brother was born six years before our mother was born."

Sounding horrified, Kraglin asked; "How _old_ was your dad?"

"Like I said, he was old. Anyway, he told us that he'd been foolish in his younger years and had this son with a Kree woman who was married to a Kree man. Not just any Kree man. A warlord. And this warlord did not like the fact that his wife had fooled around with a lowly Aakonian who hadn't even turned twenty-one, so he tore out his wife's heart and took off with the baby they'd just had."

"What happened to your father?" Gamora asked.

"It broke him," Akhila said quietly. "The warlord didn't touch him, but the sight of his first love dying like that and the loss of his child...you can imagine how badly it hurt him. He left society and lived in the desert for forty years until Mama found him and promised she would find his son if he came back home." Akhila smiled, though her eyes were sad. "He didn't think he would ever love again, but he fell in love with her. We were a surprise."

"The best kind." Drax assured her. "The story?"

She leaned back, nodding while straightening her spine. "God, my back. Where was I? Oh, yes. Our father told us about our brother and let us know that he'd been found. Mama brought him home just after our eighth birthday. He was...not what we were expecting. He had hair, but his skin was as yellow as ours. He had my eye colour, but there was nothing in his eyes. He had scars all over his body. But he was nice. He played with us, even though he was a grownup, and told us stories, like big brothers do. Stories of his time in the ring. They were violent, but we loved hearing them. We loved our brother."

"Did he have a name?" Mantis wanted to know. "Your brother.

Akhila nodded. "Il-Sahn. The warlord named him for our father." She swallowed. "We did love him. We thought he loved us, too, but a month after he came to us, we were attacked by the Kree. They came from all over the empire, but we knew who was coming for us. We were all scared, but Il-Sahn...he was so calm." She hunched forward, covering her belly with her hands and posture. "He killed Mama. Papa couldn't even do anything, just hold her as she bled out from a hundred bullet wounds. He told us to hide and...I was so scared. I couldn't do anything. Gakhsi had to take care of me. He locked me in our parents' closet, but I could hear. could hear Papa talking to Il-Sahn, I could hear Il-Sahn talking to Gakhsi. I heard Papa coming up the stairs. It sounded like he was in _pain."_ Akhila closed her eyes, looking away again. "He _was_ in pain. I never found out what happened to him. Nobody would tell me..."

"You don't want to know," Gamora told her, her voice patient as Akhila struggled. "I wish I didn't know what happened to my father. Just know your father tried to keep you both safe from your brother."

"If he hadn't wanted his precious son back, my daughter would have a grandmother and maybe I would still have my twin." Akhila clenched her hands into fists. "But he was my papa. And if someone took my daughter, I would rip worlds apart to get her back. I understand why he wanted Il-Sahn, I just...I wish me and Gakhsi were enough for him." She held her belly and exhaled sharply. "Papa did something to Il-Sahn. I don't know what, but Il-Sahn was begging for mercy from him. He was afraid and it sounded like he was hurt." A smile curved her mouth and then disappeared. "Someone came into our home. He came up the stairs and Papa said a name."

"A name?" Drax said. "You heard it?"

Akhila was carrying on like she hadn't heard Drax's question. "There was a loud crash and I heard Gakhsi screaming for Papa. I couldn't hear anything else, just him crying and begging Papa to wake up. After a while I couldn't hear anything. They were all gone. I was in that closet for seven hours. Gakhsi took the key with him." She straightened herself again and looked at them. "It was a long time ago, but I remember the name. Kylam. I was told I was imagining it, but I know what I heard. You don't forget your father's last words."

* * *

_'Look at that. The prodigal son returns.'_

"I'm imagining you, Il-Sahn. It wouldn't surprise me if I'm imagining him." Gakhsi looked down at the Uplift lying in one of the abandoned beds in the sleeping areas provided when scientists had lived in the labratory. "God, I can't _fucking_ see."

 _'You don't say?'_ Il-Sahn's phantom asked sarcastically. _'Of course you can't see. You got stabbed in the eyes, Gakhsi. That isn't exactly good for them, you know.'_

"How am I supposed to help him when I can't even see him properly?"

 _'I know.'_ Il-Sahn said. _'Wake him up and show him your face and tell him you can't fix him up unless he tells you what needs fixing. That'll do the trick.'_

"I have a better idea. Go fuck yourself." 

89P13 stirred. Gakhsi froze. Then, thankfully, the Uplift went back to sleep.

Il-Sahn chuckled darkly. _'What do you think would've happened if he woke up and saw you?'_ His laughter turned hysterical. _'Gax, do you think he would've pulled your intestines out and used them as a skipping rope?'_

"I saw a gun in his ship and if you don't shut the fuck up, I will shoot myself in the head."

Il-Sahn knocked it off and looked at 89P13 with him. _'I wonder why it wasn't in his hand.'_

"Perhaps it was out of reach. I don't think he came here willingly." Gakhsi squinted with his good eye, but it was useless. "Why did you have to go for the eyes?"

_'The eyes are the best things to go for. Everybody's weak spots are their eyes. I told you that and you told him that. Now you're blind and he's not.'_

"I didn't think he was going to use it against me."

 _'Who else was he gonna use it against?'_ Il-Sahn's hand curled itself around his wrist, stopping him from touching 89P13. _'Gax, you can't take care of him when you're blind.'_

"I _can_ see, a little."

 _'You can, can you?'_ Il-Sahn held up his other hand. It was blurred and dark and somewhat shapeless. Even his imagination was warped by blindness. _'How many fingers am I holding up?'_

Gakhsi didn't bother looking and held up his middle finger. "This many."

Il-Sahn sighed. _'Why don't we leave the little enucleator here and take a little walk up to the cybernetics room and pick out a pair of decent eyeballs so you can see him properly?'_

"I can't do self-surgery."

 _'Of course you can!'_ Il-Sahn said brightly as if Gakhsi had been insisting he couldn't do something simple. _'You have me with you!'_

"That's part of the reason why I can't do it." Gakhsi said as Il-Sahn started leading him away from 89P13. "I don't know how to do this, Il-Sahn."

_'I do. I've gouged out plenty of eyeballs in my day.'_

"I am not gouging out my own-" Gakhsi stopped as his shoulder hit the wall. "Goddammit. I hope 89P13 can't hear this conversation."

 _'I know,'_ Il-Sahn said, sounding amused. _'He could walk in while you're gouging out your eyes and mistake one of them for a delicious treat and get a taste for your blood.'_

"I fucking hate you, do you know that? And I'm not gouging out my own eyes. That's just sick."

_'Have it your way. Mind your step, the stairs are coming up.'_

Gakhsi felt for the bannister and clung to it as he made his way up the stairs. "Do you think he still hates me?"

_'Do you still hate me?'_

"Only some of the time."

 _'That is better.'_ Il-Sahn stopped and looked at him out of eyes that were distorted by Gakhsi's own eyesight. _'Are you sure that it's better for you to heal him than letting him heal on his own? He probably doesn't want you anywhere near him.'_

"I can't just let him suffer by himself. I'll help him heal and then I'll stay out of his way."

_'What if he repays your help by finishing the job?'_

"Then I finally get what I deserve and he gets to be free of me. It's a win-win." Gakshi met Il-Sahn's eyes. "Are you going to help me or not, brother?"

Il-Sahn shook his head and then linked his arm through Gakhsi's. _'Fine, little brother. I'll help you.'_

* * *

"So, it's him. It's definitely Kylam." Peter was just saying what they already knew, but nobody else had said anything in the past ten minutes. "Okay. Um...okay, he wanted Rocket as a weapon, didn't he?"

"Yes." Drax said, "That was the deal he struck with the scientist. Now he has his weapon, but we were sent to spy on him for information on a _new_ weapon he was planning."

"More Uplifts." Gamora suggested. She hooked a thumb into her belt. "Biological weapons are highly valuable. Lylla had several different technicians working on her. Why would they want to if she wasn't going to be of high worth to them?"

"We might not be able to find the Darkwing 'cause Kylam went to the place Rocket was born," Kraglin said. At the horrified quiet, he added; "We don't know where the place is. We can't find Kylam's ship. Rocket wasn't...the asshole wasn't done messin' with him. If Kylam found a new technician, he has the weapon he never got to own and he has a world he can use. I'll bet nobody's been there in years after what Rocket did to get the hell outta there."

"God." Peter muttered. "I hope you're wrong."

"So do I, Pete."

Gamora touched Peter's arm with her fingertips. As his eyes met hers, she offered a smile that didn't warm her eyes as a real one would. "We need to ask Lylla if she remembers its coordinates."

"What about Rocket's tablet? I mean, if this is true, he won't care if we use it to get him away from there."

"It wasn't meant to leave the planet. We can't use it."

Peter swallowed. The otter loved Rocket like he was her own pup. It was going to be hard as hell telling her they'd lost him to the monster who had ordered him to be made. The only silver lining was that Gavaar was dead and couldn't torment him any more. "Okay. Okay. Who wants to call her with me?" He was answered by nearly all of them swarming past him to go to the callscreen. He smiled, in spite of the situation and looked at Drax who was definitely not smiling. He reached out, putting a hand on the man's shoulder. "He's alive, Drax."

"I know. I cannot rid myself of the feeling that I failed as a father, just as he was beginning to want me as one."

"Come on. Rocket didn't want you to be his dad because you could defend and protect him from everything. He wants you as his dad 'cause you love him and he knows you're good for him. He's always going to want you to be his dad."

"Thank you, Quill."

Hiding a wince as Drax squeezed his shoulder in a show of thanks, Peter nudged him. "Come on. We gotta call Lylla."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys remember way back when Rocket hallucinated Gax in A Different Light and Lylla pointed out that healthy minds don't see things that aren't there? Well...let's just say Gax doesn't have a healthy mind. Then again, you probably knew that already.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gakhsi gets rid of a problem. The Guardians talk to Lylla. Rocket gets some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains brief description of self-surgery right at the beginning, in particular removing of one's own eye (AKA self-enucleation). For your sakes, I have boldened it to avoid triggering anyone.

**The tape holding Gakhsi's eye open was so old that he was pretty sure it predated the Uplift asleep in the dormitories. But it was all he had and, in fairness, was doing a good job of what he was using it for. He had nothing to numb the area, but if 89P13 had to put up with it, then so did he. He held the handle of the spoon tightly in his hand. He'd heated it until it felt uncomfortably warm to his own touch and had decided it would do. Tilting his head back, he willed Il-Sahn's phantom to leave him alone. The last thing he needed was for thoughts of 89P13 waking up and finding what was undoubtedly going to be a horrific scene of blood and gore.**

**No, he couldn't do it. He might have been indifferent to death, but there was that and there was the idea of cutting out one of his own body parts. Yes, the eye was dead, but it could still feel things. It would hurt. It would hurt a lot. But then, he'd hurt 89P13 a lot. Far more and far worse than this. Suddenly, his hand jolted forward, digging the spoon underneath the eyeball. He froze, knowing that there was no going back now. It hurt less than he expected, but that didn't change the fact that there was a foreign object resting underneath his eye. "You can do this." he said to himself. "You can do it. This is nothing."**

**His brain must have believed the lie because his hand pushed the spoon further, severing something and that was what brought the worst pain Gakshi had felt in some time. It burst and burned, bringing blood pouring from his eye socket and resulted in water rising in the other eye. Gritting his teeth so hard that he felt them drive downward into his gums, he pulled the spoon out, hearing something splat on the floor. It was out. Finally. With shaking hands, he felt for the prosthetic eye.**

The prosthetic eye was the simplest design. It was meant to find the optical nerve and attach itself with no surgery needed and slotted into the now empty eye socket with ease. Vision returned to him. He could see. Pulling the tape from his skin, he took in his surroundings. They were filthy and messy, and there were cobwebs littering the ceiling, but it was the most wonderful sight he'd ever seen. Something scraped on the floor behind him and he turned sharply, seeing nothing until he looked down and felt his heart stop, even if it was just for a split second. 

His Uplift looked at him out of eyes that were just as bright an amber as the day he'd left. He was wearing an expression that Gakhsi remembered too well. He was frightened of him and he was right to be. No matter how much time had passed, he was still going to be a source of terror for him. "What I did to you was evil, wasn't it?"

His Uplift nodded and held up the blaster Gakhsi had noticed in the Kree pod that had brought him back to Halfworld. Aiming it at his head, the Uplift spoke, his voice different to how Gakhsi remembered it to be. "I met my buyer. He's why I'm here. Says he wants you to make more of me. Ain't that sweet, he wants you to give me little brothers and sisters - oh, wait a sec, _you don't modify girls!"_

Something vaporised with a bang to Gakhsi's left, the trail from the blaster almost going through his skin. So the Uplift knew the truth about the 'prototypes'. "I didn't hurt her. Or the..the others. They never suffered."

 _"I_ suffered."

"I know you did." Gakhsi looked at his feet and then at the Uplift. "And I know I can't do anything to make it better. I can't ever make up for what I did. I'm a threat to you and I always will be, won't I? If you want to be free of me, I have to die."

"This is one of your sick tests."

"It's not a test. Dying is all I can do for you, isn't it? Shoot me. Make it quick or draw it out. Do what you need to. I deserve it."

"Why?"

"I killed your mother, I killed your sister, I operated on you without anaesthesia-"

"Gax, shut up! I'm not asking for a list of your fuckin' sins!" The Uplift snapped, though he lowered his weapon. "Tell me why you made me. What happened that led to me?"

"I'd rather get shot than tell you that story."

"You owe me."

Gakhsi sighed. The Uplift was right. He was owed the truth and more than that. "Fine. If you really want to know, I'll tell you."

"Not in here." The Uplift said. He pointed the blaster at a spot near Gakhsi's feet and started walking away. "Not with your eye lookin' at me like it was me that cut it out."

* * *

"My god." Lylla's eyes were wide and distant, almost looking through the five people standing before her. "Oh, God."

Peter looked down and then tried to meet her eyes. "Lylla, he's not dead. Kylam isn't gonna kill him, not when he finally has him. But we need to find Rocket, fast, and there's a huge possibility that he's gone back to where he was born. Where you two were...made."

"That was a lifetime ago, Peter."

Gamora spoke before he had a chance to. "We don't expect you to know or even remember the co-ordinates. We just need to know how many days you were able to fly for before Aleta found you. That's it."

"Will it help you to get Rocket back?"

"Yes." Gamora said with finality. "It will help."

Lylla closed her eyes. Peter noticed that one hand drifted toward her middle, even though her pregnancy had ended a decade ago. It was crazy to think that her pups would have been around ten years old now. "There was a clock attached to the console. It told the time, but not the days."

Gamora smiled, even though Lylla couldn't see it. "That's okay. Every ship has one of those. Some people travel for a long time and the days can't all be counted on the clock, so it keeps track of the time instead. Can you remember how often the times changed? Like, how many times was it midnight?"

"Midnight." Lylla mouthed. She used her fingers to count and landed on the fourth finger hesitantly. "That was around the time the fuel ran out. I don't know how long it was before I was found."

"It's okay. Do you remember seeing the time when you left the planet?"

"Eight thirty at night. I remember because I always had dinner at seven and I blew up my cage half an hour after finishing."

Food had been scarce for Rocket, at times, when Gavaar had been pissed with him. Clearly it had been the same for Lylla when she did something to displease The Technician. He hadn't been able to beat her so he'd starved her instead. Peter hid a scowl and waited for Gamora to finish the conversation.

"We'll find him, Lylla."

"I know. Tell me when you find him, please."

"We will." Gamora promised. "Bye." As Lylla disappeared from the screen, she thought for a moment and said; "Her ship would have been operating on Kree time. The Kree empire is colossal and they wouldn't have bought supplies from anywhere other than their own world, considering how secret Halfworld is."

"It's not so secret." Kraglin pointed out. "People've heard of it."

"But hardly anybody knows where it is. Okay, a Kree day is 28 hours long. Our clock takes in 24 hour days because Peter insists a day cannot be longer."

"It's crazy to have 28 hour long days!"

"So," Gamora went on, blatantly ignoring his protest, "Lylla flew from Halfworld for just over four days in Kree time. What would that be in Earth time?"

"A little under five." Peter said. "Her ship couldn't have had much fuel."

"Five Terran days," Gamora said thoughtfully. "Plus however long it took for Aleta to get Lylla to Xandar."

"It was probably the closest habitable world." Kraglin said. 

Gamora nodded, eyes still narrowed in thought. "Or the safest."

* * *

The planet was the same, but different. The grass was the same grey-green colour, but it had grown longer, thicker and wilder in the years that had passed. Flowers sprouted from the ground in white, orange and pink. The skies overhead were still the same shade of red as his blood, but they seemed clearer and the clouds that wisped across them held a tinge of peach that was pretty to look at when the dual suns hit them. If he didn't know better, Rocket would have liked the planet.

But he knew way better.

"Last time you and I went outside together, you threw me a couple hundred feet to the ground," Rocket said flatly. "You remember that?" He didn't get an answer, but he wasn't expecting one, just like how he hadn't expected to walk in on the man scooping his eye out with a rusty spoon. That didn't mean he didn't want one, though. "Gax!"

"I remember," the Aakonian said quickly. 

It wasn't what Rocket wanted from him. He wanted, needed more than just confirmation from Gax that he knew what he'd done was awful. He wanted begging, he wanted grovelling apologies just so he could throw it back at the man. But it was useless to wish for it, because it wasn't going to come. "You said you'd tell me what happened."

For a second, it seemed to Rocket like Gavaar was going to ask to be shot, rather than talk. Half of him hoped that he would. The other half was sick of being lied to. "What do you know already?"

"Doesn't fuckin' matter." Rocket pointed the blaster at Gavaar's shoulder, close to the area where he'd stabbed his creator nearly eight years ago. _"Talk."_

Gax folded his arms across his chest hiding the bones that were almost tearing through it. Rocket could see a collection of scars over his abdomen, two deep gouges close to his pelvis. He didn't know if he was responsible for them or if the Kree were. The Aakonian didn't see him looking. His eyes were avoiding Rocket's. "My mother didn't die when I told you she did. She died long before you were born."

"Did Kylam kill her? Or was it you? You do have an awful habit of murdering people's moms."

"It wasn't me," Gax said, looking highly offended. "And it wasn't Kylam, either. The short version is, my papa had three kids with two different women. One of those women was Kylam's wife. Kylam got pissed. Kylam killed his wife and stole their baby. The baby was enslaved. Papa went crazy and ran into the desert for forty years. Mama heard his story and offered to help find his son. They got married and very unexpectedly had twin children together. Mama found Papa's first son and brought him back. A month later the Kree came, from a lot of provinces to help Kylam get his slave returned to him. My half-brother decided to shoot Mama every place he could get her and that was the day she died."

"That's the _short_ version?"

"That's the short version." Gavaar confirmed. "That bastard was everything I hoped I'd never become."

"Oh, Gax. You weren't as bad as your brother." When his creator looked down at him in surprise, Rocket added; "You were worse! At least he didn't kill your twin. You killed mine!"

"It was an act of mercy."

"You only killed her because she was a girl! How is that an act of fuckin' mercy?!"

"If she'd lived, her life would have been worse than yours was. Kylam would have let her live to become a breeding animal. That's no life." 

"Couldn't you have given her to somebody else?"

"No. If Master found out, he would have taken her back and sent her out to the highest bidder."

 _"If_ he found out." Rocket snarled. "You could've protected her. You were just scared of him hurting you, you son of a bitch."

"She didn't suffer. It didn't hurt when she...stopped breathing. It was quick."

Rocket closed his eyes, gripping the blaster tight with both hands. "I heard what you did for _your_ sister. Nice to know you did have a heart once."

"She was petrified. One minute, we had a big brother, the next we had no mama and a monster wearing our brother's face. I made sure she was hidden and safe and then I hid behind a curtain and hoped no one would find me."

"You hid behind a curtain? You dumbass."

"I was eight years old."

"So am I, and I know better than to do somethin' so stupid."

"You're not eight yet," Gax mumbled. He had the sense left to look apologetic when Rocket glared at him. "Anyway, our brother came up and told me I had to go to Kylam because Papa couldn't take care of me any more. He said that with my enslavement, he could have his freedom."

 _'That sounds familiar.'_ Rocket thought furiously. _'You bastard.'_

"I still remember, he turned around, and Papa was standing there, looking at him like he was his worst enemy. He was bleeding a lot. I'll never know what my brother did to him, but it must've hurt."

"Did your brother finish him?"

Gax shook his head. "Papa killed him. He found me a better hiding place and that was when Kylam turned up. He slit my papa's throat. He found me." Looking away from Rocket, he added; "He kept me."

"I know. I know what he kept you for. Training dogs, makin' him look scarier than he already was..." He caught Gax's eye. "Making little monsters."

Gax remembered. It was clear by the look on his face, etched into the scarred eye he'd chose to keep. "It wasn't you who was a monster. It was me. It was me from the moment I agreed to make you for the price of freedom and the average Uplift Technician's paying fee."

"Because you made me and I did that." Rocket pointed to the scars running down both of Gavaar's eyelids, the old scratches in the Aakonian's skin from where he'd clawed out his flesh. "Right?"

"No. Because I made your life hell. Sometimes I can almost understand why Kylam chose me. I will always be the son of his enemy. You did nothing to me and I still hurt you. It won't mean anything now and it won't change anything, but I'm sorry. I am so sorry for all I did to you."

Rocket stilled. They were words he'd never thought he'd hear from his creator, but he'd actually said he was sorry and not because of the injuries he'd inflicted years ago, either. But Gavaar was right. An apology changed nothing and it meant nothing. "If your goddamn brother had said he was fuckin' sorry," he growled. "Would you have forgiven him?"

Gavaar didn't answer the question. Instead, he said; "What I did was unforgiveable."

_"Would you?"_

"I don't know!"

"He shot your mother into little pieces!"

"I know what he did! I saw him do it. I just...I _loved_ my mama, but she brought Kylam to our doorstep. You'd think she would have learned from Papa's idiocy that messing with Kylam was dangerous, but no. She had to go and be a fucking hero." Gavaar looked back at him. "And I understand why my brother wanted to swap our lives. He never got to be free. I know how desperately he felt."

"And you were gonna put me in that situation, weren't you? _God._ Did you never feel even a little bad about what you were doing while you were doing it?"

"I've told you what led up to you being made. That's enough for today, isn't it? You're probably in pain. You literally crash-landed here-"

He hadnt been told enough of what had made Gavaar agree to make him, but Rocket was too pissed at having his piloting skills called into question to complain. "That was your asshole of a master's fault! Bastard couldn't fly a paper airplane, let alone a pod. And I'm fine." Rocket glanced back into the building. The bed he'd woken up on had felt kinda nice, even if it was dusty and smelt like mold. "I just need to know one more thing."

"What's that?"

"Do you want to help your master make more Uplifts or do you want to help me figure out a way to screw him over?"

Gavaar looked over to the wreckage of the Kree pod Rocket had been flown in. His mouth tightened. "The second one."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drax reassures Mantis. Aleta offers help. Rocket finds mementoes Groot left behind and something that may help him get the hell off Halfworld.

Many years ago, when he had been a young man on his home planet of K'ai, Drax had never thought he would find love. Not in the self-pitying manner some displayed, not out of self-hatred or anything like it. Simply because he was different. His love for fighting was the only thing in common he had with his own people and they deemed it enough to accept him, but there was still a divide that he felt as he watched his siblings flail aimlessly whilst dancing at festivals or listened to his father sing ballads. 

The K'ai people accepted Drax enough to be civil. But the only woman, the only person to ever deem him worthy of courtship was Hovat, who was as still as he was. She didn't feel the same divide he felt, but her love was enough to fill it and when Kamaria came along, a year after they had wed, they had gazed upon one another and shared a smile that only the two of them understood.

Losing Hovat was like losing half of himself. Finding his daughter lifeless, still held tight in her mother's arms had felt like the man he'd been before had been killed along with them. Maybe he had. She had been a miracle, Hovat had been a miracle. Their deaths had hurt so much that he couldn't allow himself to feel it. For twenty years, he hadn't been able to feel it. But sometimes it snuck up and attacked him when he least expected it.

It attacked him when Rocket had thanked him for being his dad. Kamaria had been six months away from talking when Ronan had murdered her, so he had never been called Dad by anyone before. Finally gaining that title and then having it torn away...it was a cruelty that he found hard to bear. The only real consolation he had was that Rocket was alive. 

For now.

Drax could still hear his mother's cries of; "Why didn't you stop him?" He'd asked that question to himself a lot recently. The sad truth was, protecting one's children constantly was impossible. All he could do was get this one back home safely.

"Drax?"

Turning his head, Drax looked upon the second daughter he had gained. "Has Aleta answered to Quill's call yet?"

"No," Mantis said, gripping her hands together. "Not yet."

Leaning against the wall, Drax took in her nervous composure, the way her eyes refused to meet his. "Will you tell me what's wrong?"

She remained quiet. Not out of stubbornness, but the way she had been raised. Ego had taught her that it was her feelings that were wrong, not the situations that had led to those feelings. It was taking some time for her to forget those teachings. "I...feel..."

Wanting to encourage her, Drax nodded along. "What do you feel?"

"I feel guilt."

That surprised Drax more than if Mantis had told him she felt murderous rage and wanted to kill everyone on the ship. "Why?"

"I let Rocket go right." Mantis said quietly. "I should have gone with him. Then maybe, he'd..."

"No, no." Drax held open his arms for her to walk into and then wrapped them around her. He felt the smooth silkiness of her hair against his cheek and let the memory of Kamaria steal his attention for a moment. "Do you know that I feel immense guilt for what happened to my first family?"

Mantis nodded. She had felt it for herself multiple times and shed tears when he couldn't. "I know."

"It's not an unusual thing to feel guilt when something happens to someone you love. It isn't a stupid thing." Pulling back, he looked into her eyes, so wide and scared. "You just need to remember that you cannot control what people choose to do. Sometimes you might not be able to stop the ones you love from making dangerous choices. Rocket made a choice and you weren't able to stop him. That's not your fault." Stroking back a strand of emerald-green hair from her face, he added; "If that doesn't help, just remember that the only one who is blaming yourself is you."

"You aren't angry with me?"

"Not at all." Drax promised. He kissed her forehead, feeling her lean against him for further comfort. He felt disgusted with himself. He'd been so preoccupied with the thought of failing his son that he'd failed his daughter. 

"Guys!" Quill called, his voice full of urgency. "Aleta's picked up!"

Mantis tore away from him and ran to find Quill, leaving Drax to run behind her. She turned left sharply and, as he followed her into the flight deck, he saw the face of an Arcturan woman he assumed to be Aleta Ogord. She looked out of them with eyes smudged with black and rubbed her hand across them. "What?" she demanded.

"Nice to see you too, Aleta."

Aleta glared at Quill, eyes smoldering. "I haven't slept in three days. What do you want?"

"We need to ask you something about Lylla."

The heat left the Arcturan's eyes. "What about Lylla?"

"We're trying to find Halfworld."

Aleta made a sound like a humourless laugh. _"Why_ would you want to find it?"

"Because we think Rocket might be there."

Aleta looked interested. "I see. Well, Lylla couldn't tell us the co-ordinates. When she was first taken there, she wasn't who she is now. She was terrified and feral and coordinates meant nothing."

"That's what we thought." Gamora said. "She told us that she flew for just over five days before running out of fuel and stopping where you found her."

"Five days in his time?" Aleta asked, pointing at Quill who rolled his eyes at her. She only gave him a wicked smirk in return.

"Yes."

"Mmm." Aleta scratched her jawbone. "My ship runs in Arcturan time. There are eighteen hours in our day. It took us ten Arcturan days to get to Xandar." There was no hiding her amusement when she asked Quill; "How many days is _that_ in Earth time?"

"Oh, God." Quill muttered. 

"It's seven and a half days, Pete." Kraglin said. "That's twelve days from Halfworld to Xandar, give or take a couple hours."

"I know how long it is!" Quill rubbed a hand over his growing beard. "Seven and a half days, huh?" He looked at Aleta. "Do you remember where you found Lylla? The coordinates could help us a lot."

"Peter," Aleta said, warmth returning to her eyes, "you are not trying to find Halfworld by yourselves. We'll help you to find it."

Quill stared at her in amazement. They all did. "Why?" their captain choked out. 

Aleta smiled thinly. "Call it family loyalty. Besides, your crewmember made sure I could say goodbye to my boy. I will repay that debt."

* * *

The pod that had taken Rocket back to Halfworld had to have been going at speeds higher than the ship he lived on. He'd figured it out, roughly. It had been nearly eight days from here to Xandar, when he'd escaped all those years ago. Then again, he'd left in a Kree supply ship. If he'd been in a Terran ship, it would've been closer to two weeks than one. It had taken him a matter of hours to go from the Darkwing to here. Chances were, the Darkwing would be just as fast.

Point was, he was fucked for seven reasons.

  1. There were no ships.
  2. No pods, except the smashed up one.
  3. The only company he had was a deranged man who'd murdered Rocket's first family, tortured him, and had recently cut out his own eye and occasionally talked to himself.
  4. Rocket was without communication.
  5. No one knew he was here.
  6. He was pretty sure Gax would try something as revenge.
  7. He was without his family.



Rocket was sure he'd been in worse situations, but he couldnt think of a single one. Then, slowly, it dawned on him that there were two other horrible things he'd almost forgotten. 

8\. His best friend was dead and couldn't help him, like he'd done the first time.  
9\. He had to go through this nightmare, alone, in a place where Groot's ghost lingered everywhere.

With all that in mind, it was understandable how his creator had gone crazy and started talking to himself. Rocket had heard Gavaar talking to nobody as he'd started coming to, but hadn't thought of the conversation as he'd staggered to the pod and found the blaster he'd not been able to reach while inflight. Now he did. Rocket wondered how long his own sanity would last, given that he only had his mother's killer for company, like Gavaar had had for the past seven years.

Maybe he was already insane, given that he'd asked Gavaar for help. "There's no communication centre?"

"Not anymore."

"Anything at all I can use to contact someone?"

"There's nothing here that the Kree brought over. A lot of people left their belongings behind. There may be something you can use in the dorms."

Rocket looked toward the facility. It was getting dark outside and he didn't feel like wandering around in the dark, not when he had a potentially vengeful man who had lived in it for years. "Any power at all in there?"

"The lights sense your movements. They'll come on as you walk in."

Rocket looked at him. _"Don't_ follow me. If I turn around and you're standing right behind me, I'm gonna start shooting. And, of all people, you know how rarely I miss my target."

"I promise I'll stay away from you."

Still distrustful, Rocket took his first step back into the lab. Sure enough, the lights flickered back into brightness and he could see bloody trails on the floor, old blood splatters left on the pale walls. He could smell it in the air. He walked past rooms with equipment long outdated, past rooms that had been cleared of anything important or valuable. Something crunched under his feet and his heart leapt as he recognised it as a leaf from...

 _"Groot."_ Seeing another, he picked it up, feeling its dry, papery delicateness. They were dead leaves now and must have started to die after the Flora Colossus did. In spite of their pale brown colour, they were the most precious things he'd held since his best friend's sapling had come to life. Holding the leaf to his nose, he could almost smell the sweet, earthy scent that had once clung to them. His eyes caught sight of something on the floor and he realised it was his own footprint, three times smaller than it was now. It was deep brown, the colour of an Aakonian's orange blood that had dried up but never vanished. He followed the footprints to a door and recognised the number on it with a tremble of fear he'd never outgrown. 

**ROOM 57**

He looked at the number, stroking the leaf he held just to make sure it was still there. Room 57 was his room. It had also been Groot's, once. Inside would be proof of what he had done before he'd escaped and left Gax behind for what he hoped would be the last time the man breathed. A lot of bad things had happened in there. But the best thing ever had happened in there, too.

In this room, he'd met Groot.

He didn't go in. He couldn't face it, not with the ghosts of his childhood in there. Instead, he tucked the leaf into one of his pouches and looked down at the floor again, at the tiny footprints covering its surface. Crazy to think he'd been that small once. Even crazier to think that he was stuck back here again, with even less chance of escape than last time. 

And, just like last time, nobody knew he was even here.

Except for the warlord who'd commissioned him and the ex-slave who'd made him. 

Maybe something was in there that he could use. It was worth going in, just for a short while to see if there was, right? He had nothing to fear, nothing to lose and potentially a lot to gain. The comms centre here was down, but that wasn't to say something hadn't been left behind that he could use. A radio, maybe. Anything. 

Pushing the door open, he looked into the room, taking in the bright moonlight that poured in despite the filthy windows. Light from the bulbs overhead illuminated the room and, just like that, he was less than a year old. Touching the blaster at his side to confirm to himself that he was safe, he stepped into his "childhood bedroom" and looked around. There was his "bed", a cage that was still silver after all these years. There was the sink he'd washed in, flanked by two units that had kept his food and medicine. And there, on the wall to his left, were leftover vines, an aged bloodstain and a crumpled, bloodstained coat that the years had turned a pale yellow.   
It still smelled like Gax, as Rocket walked closer to it. Sweet. It no longer made the fur on his back stand up on edge. He pulled it and shook it, even though he was pretty sure there was nothing left in the pockets and was surprised when something clattered out and landed at his feet. 

He recognised it immediately. Gax's old pager. Did it work? Picking it up from the floor, he pressed the button on its side and was hit by relief when it powered on, though its battery life was shockingly low. Actually, considering it had been out of action for almost eight years, its battery was shockingly _high._ "Thank God you still work." He flicked through it, taking in its settings. It had a high transmittance, enough to reach worlds or ships a week away. Maybe a little too far to reach Xandar. But maybe he could contact his family? 

The device flickered and Rocket watched its screen darken before issuing a warning that it needed to be charged. Goddammit, but at least it worked. It just needed to be charged. Using his sense of smell to locate his creator, he found him looking through a room filled with rusted desks and broken chairs. It had probably been the comms centre, once, before the Kree had cleared it out. "Gax."

The Aakonian looked up from the desk drawer he'd been looking in. "What is it?"

Rocket held up the pager. "Where's the charging cable for this?"

Gavaar squinted at it. "Where did you find _that?"_

"In my old room. Where's the cable?"

"In the room you woke up in, there's a set of drawers. It used to be in the middle one." Gavaar gestured to the pager. "Does it work?"

"You think I'd charge it if it didn't work?" Rocket snapped. "Of course it frickin' works!" Turning on his heel, he left his creator behind. The first thing he was doing when the pager was charged was calling his family. Somehow, he'd get to them. Tell them what happened, what Kylam was planning on doing, that his first kill had fucking survived. God. He slowed down as he approached the dorms.

He hadn't fully told Gavaar what had led up to his return to Halfworld. All that he had let the Aakonian know was that Kylam had been the one to send him back and that Kylam wanted more Uplifts. He hadn't told his creator that Kylam would be coming soon, maybe as soon as two weeks' time. He hadn't told him that Kylam owned the planet they currently lived on. He certainly hadn't let Gavaar know that he'd tried to attack Kylam and failed miserably.

He hadn't told his creator that he'd finally found a family who he'd give up his safety and freedom for.

Stopping outside the dorm, he took a minute to breathe. Like last time, his mind was focused on one thing: get the hell out. But, like last time, he was terrified. Maybe more than he had been when he was a kid. _'Come on, don't be stupid,'_ he thought to himself. _'You got out before, you'll get out now.'_ With that in mind, he pushed the door open to go inside, forcefully telling himself that escape wasn't just a possibility, it was a certainty.

He just didn't know if he believed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely, absolutely adore Drax and Mantis' father-daughter relationship. He might be blunt to the point of rudeness, but his heart beats for his kids and I hope it shows.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guardians meet Stakar Ogord to discuss finding Halfworld. Gakhsi has a question for his Uplift.

Being a Ravager, even in an exiled faction, Peter had always known about the existence of Stakar and Aleta Ogord. They were the undisputed leaders of the clans, having banded the Ravagers years ago, long before even Yondu had been around. In the years he was in Yondu's faction, he saw glimpses of Aleta, heard her voice on brief calls whenever Yondu's faction was getting too close to hers. For years, he'd just thought Ravagers were territorial. They were, he knew now, but Aleta had a different reason for not wanting Yondu too close. Today was the first time he'd ever lain eyes on Stakar, her husband and Yondu's saviour.

His first thought was that the man looked a little like Rambo. He thought about saying so, but decided against it. It wouldn't be great to offend the Arcturan after barely securing not only his help, but that of his Ravagers, too. That and Ogord was way cooler than Rambo. He was a Ravager captain, the original Ravager captain, along with Aleta. He'd been fighting space battles since before Rambo had even been thought of, half of them with the Kree, and here he stood. Alive and wanting to help them. Peter saluted, doing it first, as a sign of respect and breathed out when Stakar responded in kind. "Thanks for helping us."

"Thank me when we find your crewmember." Stakar said, but he placed a hand on Peter's shoulder n a surprisingly friendly act. "So," he said as he moved on, almost dragging Peter with him. "How did you get caught up with Kylam?"

"We were asked to spy on him." Peter explained. "If we knew he was the one who, y'know..."

Stakar didn't slow his pace as he led them through his and Aleta's ship. "Peter, if Rocket didn't know, how the hell could anyone else?"

The Ravager was right, but it didn't make Peter feel any easier. He glanced at him as they ascended a short flight of metal steps. "How did _you_ get caught up with Kylam?"

"We rescued some of his boys."

"His boys?" Gamora repeated. "Was he a cruel father?"

Stakar smirked humourlessly. "He was a cruel _master."_ The smile fell off his face. "Probably still is."

Thinking of what little Rocket had told them of his upbringing by one of Kylam's slaves, Peter could believe it. "We'll probably be seeing him if we find Halfworld."

"Good." Stakar stood by an arch and pointed them through to the flight deck. He stood by a chair in which his wife was seated. "We have a plan for how to extract Rocket from the world."

"Okay." Peter was more than ready to hear it. The facts were that Stakar and Aleta knew Kylam better than they did and they'd done this kind of thing numerous times. They needed the Ogords' expertise. "Let's hear it."

* * *

_'I think that went rather well, Gax.'_

Gakhsi refused to look at the ghost his mind was torturing him with. "But?"

_'But what?'_

"There's always something else. What?"

 _'You didn't tell him what Master did_ before _you agreed to make his little weapon.'_

Gakhsi closed his eyes, the prosthetic one feeling uncomfortable in its new home. Typical that the Uplift had woken up seconds after Gakhsi had decided to cut out the dead eye. Still, it was nice to see. "He already hates me. And even if I did tell him the truth, it wouldn't change anything."

_'You aren't going to tell him you got attached?'_

"It'll only hurt him."

 _'And you've_ never _hurt him, have you?'_

Gakhsi opened his eyes and turned his head to glare at his half-brother's phantom. "I will not hurt him again, Il-Sahn. How do you think it feels for me, knowing you weren't just attached, that you _loved_ me but still wanted to sell me out?" 

_'Of all people, you understand why I did-'_

"The difference is I regret what I did. I'm sorry I did it. You regret absolutely nothing. You're not sorry."

_'What good do apologies do, little brother?'_

Gakhsi turned away, but Il-Sahn's question hung in the air. "None," he answered quietly. 

"Who the hell are you talking to?"

Gakhsi looked down, into his Uplift's eyes. He hesitated. How much had he heard? "My brother, Il-Sahn."

"The dead one?"

"Yes."

His Uplift stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. "Why do you even talk to the bastard for?"

"Because he's all I have left." 

His Uplift crossed his furry arms. He did not look as if he approved. Gakhsi couldn't understand why. Didn't everyone talk to the dead? The Uplift shook his head lightly. "Have you _always_ seen your brother?"

That was a good question. Gakhsi thought back to when he'd woken up on the Darkwing, nearly sixteen years ago. when Il-Sahn's phantom had first appeared. "No, not always. I first saw him just over two weeks after Kylam abducted me. Il-Sahn been dead all that time, so I thought I was going insane."

"You were going insane. Sane people don't see ghosts." His Uplift told him bluntly. "Yeah, I seem to remember Kylam told me your nickname."

Gakhsi grimaced. Fifteen Days. his pet name had been, for fifteen days of torture. He looked at the Uplift, eyes deliberately avoiding the wound on his furry forearm. "Did he hurt you before you got here?"

"None of your business if he did." His Uplift looked at him with doubtful eyes. "What _my_ business is - are you sane enough to actually help me or are you gonna talk with ghosts all the time?"

"I can ignore him." Gakhsi looked at the Uplift's arm, where a deep gash lay, almost to the bone. Although it worried him, it was dangerous to mention it. Too dangerous. Trust was precarious enough, so he felt in his pockets for something he was sure the Uplift would recognise. "Here," he said, holding out the healing device. "In case you did get hurt."

The Uplift used his uninjured arm to reach for it, his small fingers closing around the cylindrical body of the device. Once it had been larger than he was. Shuffling back, he examined the device which he now held in both hands, eyes roving over its design. 

It didn't take Gakhsi long to realise his Uplift had forgotten how it worked. "There's a little silver button close to the base. Press it until it flashes green to turn it on."

His Uplift edged even further back and switched the device on, holding it above the cut on his arm. The damage halved and the device powered down as the Uplift ended his use of it. Again, doubtful amber eyes looked into his. "How long's this gonna last?"

"How long is what going to last?"

"You being like... _this."_ His Uplift pointed to him, as if words had failed him for the first time.

It wasn't an unreasonable question, given the horror Gakhsi had forced upon him. "My papa used to tell me that there wasn't any point in being sorry, unless you were willing to change your ways."

"How do I know you're not just tricking me?" His Uplift demanded, pointing the healing device at him like it was a knife. It shook a little in his grasp, betraying the worry the Uplift kept secret.

"Would I have let you heal your own wounds eight years ago?" 

The Uplift thought about that. He lowered the device, giving it a glance. His ears lowered. "Eight years ago, you'd have beat the shit out of me just for getting caught."

Gakhsi wanted to deny it, but what was there to deny? It was _true._ "I'm not angry you got caught. Kylam is powerful and vicious." He broke eye contact, looking at the steel bangle embedded into his flesh. Once it had held his tracker. "I should've told you about him, before. I just...didn't want you to know what I really was."

His Uplift breathed out quietly. "I found out you were a slave because of my medical tracker. Guess you saw how bad my liver got."

Gakhsi didn't say anything. He didn't trust himself to not say the wrong thing.

"I got it dealt with. The doctor found my tracker and twenty names scratched into it."

Gakhsi closed his eyes and turned his face away from his Uplift. He didn't want to hear the story he'd witnessed. The sight of them among the stars would never leave his memory.

"We found out that some Kree had stormed your world, grabbed you and nineteen other kids. The other kids got thrown into space and you should've been there with them, but you weren't. But there was a dog that had your mom's name branded into her neck that made some of your people get a little suspicious. That was when we realised...you made me for someone who owned you. You weren't doing it as a favour, hell, I figured you probably weren't making me just to get rich."

"I'm-"

"I get it." His Uplift interrupted him. "Honestly, a lot of stuff made sense. The mood swings, for one thing."

Gakhsi looked at him again. "I had mood swings?" 

"You don't remember? I frickin' do." His Uplift tucked the healing device into his belt loop. Looked like it was his now. "I can forgive you wanting your freedom back so bad that you were willing to trade in mine. It was a dick move, but I can understand it. What I can't forgive, is...everything else."

"How can you forgive my reason for making you?"

His Uplift shrugged. "I've been in the same place as you. Look what I did to get away." He gestured to the scars groved into Gakhsi's skin, to the only natural eye he still possessed. He half-smiled. "Guess you'll finally be able to see what I did now."

Still the same comedian he'd raised, Gakhsi thought. He leant against the wall and looked out of one of the grimy windows, taking in a blurry, sanguine sunset before looking back at the Uplift. "You didn't stay away. You're here. In a place I'm sure you swore to yourself you'd never go to again, stuck with the first person you ever wanted dead."

"I forgot how perceptive you are."

"What happened to you?" When his Uplift raised a brow at him in question, Gakhsi explained his own question. "How did you end up in Kylam's hands?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aleta and Stakar talk through the plan. Rocket comes clean to Gavaar about the reason for his return.

"We have," Stakar said, standing close to his wife's side, "an idea of where this planet is. It's very deep in Kree territory, close to a heavily guarded area. Guess now we know why it's so heavily guarded now."

Aleta brought out a long, thin pipe from her jacket. "This area hasn't been so heavily guarded lately, but we're sure it will be now that it seems Kylam intends to use Halfworld again. She let her husband light her pipe and held it in her hands, cradling the tiny bowl. "So we'll have to be careful. We can't send out too many scouts or Kylam will grow suspicious of us." She grinned at her husband. "We don't exactly have a good relationship with him."

"That's putting it lightly." There was something like a smile at the corner of Stakar's mouth. It disappeared within milliseconds. "That's a story for another day. We have an estimation of where the planet is, but we don't know where it is. Which means we'll have to look, and we'll have to look carefully. As Aleta said, there's no use in trawling through the area the planet's in with ships and pods. We'll have to go to where Lylla was found and find the nearest star systems. If luck is on out side, we'll find the planet and we'll find your crewmember."

"And if we don't find him there-" Aleta drew in a breath from her pipe. "-We'll look until he's found."

"We appreciate it," Peter said, chancing a look at Drax to see how he was holding up. His face betrayed nothing, but Peter could see the telltale signs of the corners of his mouth tightening. The man was terrified. "Thanks."

* * *

Rocket kept eye contact with his creator, even though every instinct was screaming at him to go before he was forced into answering any questions he didn't want to answer. "What's it matter? I'm here now, aren't I?"

"I realise that. But I don't know what happened to you in the past seven years."

"That's the way I prefer it. I did a lot of things I know you won't appreciate."

Gavaar didn't move from where he was leaned against the wall. Years ago, he would have been threatening to pop joints out of place for the information he wanted. "If I promise not to get angry, will you tell me?"

Rocket thought about it. The only redeeming quality the man had ever had was his refusal to ever break a promise, good or bad. "Promise me first."

"I promise I won't get angry, no matter what you tell me."

"Okay." Rocket placed his hand around the blaster by his side. He wondered how the Aakonian's promise would hold up. "The 23rd time I was in prison was because I got into a fight with one of the daughters of Thanos and a Ravager."

Gavaar looked like something had died inside him but, sure enough, he didn't get mad. 

Surprised by the lack of reaction, Rocket continued. "We ended up in prison together. We escaped together with another friend we'd made. We stayed together. Found other people. Made a family of ourselves." A family he desperately missed. "We help people. Planets that need us, people in danger, that kind of thing. The Xandarian government sent out a spy to look in on Kylam because there was a rumour that he was planning some kinda weapon that would have screwed everybody over. He tore the spy apart with his bare hands. Don't ask me how the Xandarians knew that, but when they got her back, they could tell. So, they asked us to find the Darkwing, get onboard and find out what we could."

"What did you find?"

"Nothin' much, until we started splitting up." Rocket swallowed. "I found Kylam. Tried to shoot him, but he literally whipped my gun outta my hands." He looked at his newly-healed arm. "That's where the cut came from." He traced his fingertips over the undamaged skin. "He told me who he was. He said...if I didn't tell the others to leave, he'd have 'em killed." Dropping his arms to his sides, he said; "I thought I could kill him."

"What did you do?"

"Tried to rip out his breathing implant."

Gavaar nodded. "That wasn't a bad idea."

"Don't give me that crap. You know damn well it was a stupid idea. I failed."

"He's a warlord. There aren't many people who can defeat one by themselves." Gavaar crossed his arms over his chest. "What happened to your...your family?"

"They got the hell out."

For the first time, his creator looked annoyed. "They _left_ you?"

Rocket scowled. "Don't get judgy. Sometimes, you can't stick around, so you gotta leave people. I've left them before and they've left me before. We have a rule to always go back for each other. I figured they'd come back, 'cause they always do." He looked around the small, cramped room and felt his ears lower. "I just didn't figure I'd end up here."

"Why are you here?"

Rocket looked at his hands, wishing they'd been quicker while on the Darkwing. "My escape plan didn't go as I hoped. Kylam overrode the pod I was trying to get away in and crashlanded me here." And then he'd been found by his creator, which was a nightmare in itself. "He wants more of his little weapons and he wants me perfected." He let himself look at Gavaar. "He wants you to do it."

His creator unfolded his arms. He wasn't looking at him anymore. "I will not make another Uplift. I'm done hurting people."

"What if he offers you your freedom again? More money?"

"It's not worth what I'll become. Kylam can do what he wants, but there's not a chance I'm making another one. Or..." The Aakonian glanced his way out of mismatched eyes. "Or trying to perfect you."

"Look at that. Something we can agree on." Rocket said drily. The lights overhead flickered and he let himself look up briefly. "Kylam's coming here."

Gavaar looked startled. _"Now?"_

"Not now, you moron. Give it a couple weeks, tops. That's why I want to use your pager as soon as it's finished charging."

"It won't be long." Gavaar said. "The pager is going to be charged by tomorrow. Do you have allies you can call?"

"Of course I do. The people I told you about. All I need to do is tell 'em where I am." He had no idea what the coordinates were. He'd not looked for Halfworld in the years he'd been free of it, never thinking that he would be stuck there again. He did remember how long it had taken, in Earth days, to get to Xandar. That was something, at least. 

"Do you really think you can rely on these people?"

"No, I don't _think_ I can," Rocket said. "I _know_ I can." They had never let him down before when he'd needed them. He lowered his eyes, wondering what they were doing. Were they looking for the Darkwing, in the thought that he was still on it? He hoped not. He looked at his creator again. "Don't follow me. I'm going to find somewhere to sleep." Or at least try to. 

"I won't follow you. Stay in the dorms if you want. I'll find somewhere else."

Rocket snorted. "I bet you'd love that. You'd hold it over me for the rest of the time I'm here."

Gavaar had the audacity to roll his eyes at him. "I've slept on worse floors than these," he said and, to Rocket's fleeting terror, walked toward him. Rather than pushing him further in or even stopping to glare at him, he walked past. 

It was unnervingly quiet in the dorms now Rocket was alone in them. He looked in the rooms, most of them filthy, covered in dust and containing relics of those who had once lived in them. Aged, faded posters clung to walls, some having fallen down years ago. Clothes were either scattered on the floor or clinging to hangers in open closets. Grimy trinkets sat on nightstands, photos standing beside them in rusted picture frames. The things hadn't changed since their owners had abandoned them, but there was a sad air to them, like they somehow knew they wouldn't see the faces of those who had loved them again. 

Settling on a room that wasn't so full of mementoes, Rocket held the blaster close to his chest. Sleeping anywhere on this planet was going to be impossible. He eyed the door and then went to the bed, dragging it to the door by its legs. No way was he risking being attacked in the night. No way was he going to wake up strapped down to a table again. Pushing the bed against the door, he looked at the tiny windows that were letting in dim moonlight. Too small for a fully-grown Aakonian to crawl through, even a skinny one. 

Not that it really helped. Even barricaded, sleeping anywhere on this planet was going to be impossible. Even if he had felt safe, his mind was working in overtime, full of questions he didn't know how to answer. 

_How am I going to keep safe from Gax?_

_How am I going to keep us safe from Kylam?_

_When will I see my family again?_

_What if Kylam wins?_

He ran a hand over his eyes, forcing himself to breathe out. There had never been a situation in which he was more fucked than he was right now. Prison was easy to get out of compared to this hellhole. 

_'Okay, one question at a time.'_ Rocket thought. _'You have a blaster and eight years fighting experience. That's how you'll keep yourself safe from Gax. You'll figure out how to keep safe from Kylam. '_ The other questions, he couldn't even think to answer. He was pretty sure he'd been in worse situations than these, but he couldn't think of even one worse than this. Pushing his back against a wall, he slid down, hugging his legs close to his body, staring out of the window until, after what seemed like years, the sky lightened and the warm orb of the first sun rose into view.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stakar and Aleta talk about their lost boy and rekindle their relationship. Rocket talks defences with Gavaar. Gamora takes a call.

Over the years, Aleta had gotten to know Stakar better than she even knew herself. Mostly because he was easy to predict and understand, a world of difference from her. She found him where she knew he would be, standing by the largest window, watching the blackness outside of the ship. Joining him, she nudged against him so he would know he was no longer alone. "He forgave you." She knew who he was thinking about. He always thought of Yondu when he watched space.

"I didn't."

"Stakar." She pinched his arm so he would look at her. "He knew what to expect if he was caught."

"He didn't expect me to refuse to listen to him."

"How well do you think _I_ listened?"

Her husband stifled something that almost looked like a smile. "You've never listened to anything in your life, so not well, I imagine."

Aleta elbowed him, making him chuckle. He did have a point, so she laughed with him. As their laughter died down, she linked her arm with his. He moved his arm free to hold her hand, as she knew he would. "Yondu died on his own terms. You know he did." 

Stakar's eyes didn't leave the void outside. "Hmm."

"He loved you. It didn't stop just because you were mad with him." 

Stakar shifted closer to her, his touch on her hand gentle, as if she were the one about to break. "I should never have stopped rescuing slaves with you."

Now Aleta looked away. That particular bone of contention had led to the dissolution of their marriage. She breathed in sharply. "I could have used your help." She had lost so many would-be-rescues that she had lost count. "I still don't understand why you stopped." She remembered his excuse, but it made as little sense to her now as it had thirty years ago. "I needed you."

Stakar turned his head, his dark eyes looking into hers. "I'm sorry. I was out of my mind and couldn't think straight. My thinking was that no slave we rescued could ever be capable of being...good." By good, he meant that they wouldn't do things like sell children or traffic them, like Yondu had done. "Can you forgive me?"

It had been thirty years, Aleta had to reason with herself. And she did miss him. The love had never gone away, no matter how many men and women she'd fucked in the years they'd been apart, and it was clear the same went for him. Rising up on her toes, she found his lips with hers, closing her eyes to enjoy a kiss she had missed for three long decades. "Yes," she whispered when it ended. "I forgive you."

Stakar hugged her body close to his, burying his face into her shoulder, even though a tangle of her thick, knotted hair was in the way. "I love you, Ogord."

Aleta had to smile. "I love you, too, Ogord," she murmured in his ear, her voice quiet so only he could hear it. She wouldn't risk being thought of as soft or, worse, romantic, by their crew. _"Only_ you."

* * *

Rocket was aware of the fact he was tired as hell, but he knew his eyes weren't tricking him when he looked into the armoury room and found it completely empty, barring abandoned toolsets and some stuff that looked like it wasn't designed to be used. He'd used less, made do with worse, but goddamn, if it wasn't an extra kick in the balls. 

"What are you trying to find?"

Rocket nearly jumped out of his skin. Edging away, he glared at the Aakonian who was looking at him all innocent as if he _hadn't_ just scared the shit out of him. "You don't want to make it easy for the bastard, do you? Do we have _anything_ for defences?"

"What about the electronets?"

"He's Kree. A little zap of electricity is just gonna piss him off."

"I think you're overestimating how much a Kree can take." Gavaar said. "I can take more voltage than he can."

"I'd like to test that someday." Rocket muttered, not caring particularly if he was heard or not. "Anything else?"

"We could throw wrenches at him."

Rocket snorted. Not the idea he was hoping for, but he was in no position to rule it out. "Let's use that idea last. Okay. How do you feel about disassembling this place?" He, for one, would find it very cathartic. 

_"The lab?"_

God, how had the man he'd once thought knew everything gotten so dumb? "No, the ground outside. I thought we could throw rocks at him. Yes, the lab!"

"What about the pod you arrived in?"

"What about it?" 

"It has newer technology, for one thing. Maybe it even has weaponry."

That had been the kind of thing Rocket had been hoping to hear. Something useful. "You could be right. Go look, will you? I think the pager's charged." Then he thought about it. Was it wise to send his creator to look, given that he hadn't seen a weapon since the last one had stabbed him in the eyes? "You do know what to look for, don't you?"

"I may have been stuck on this planet for eight years, but I do know what ship-based weapons look like, thank you."

"Well, if you're sure." Turning away, he went back to the dorms, finding the room the pager was in after several wrong doors. He felt like he'd never get used to the layout of the entire building, but it wasn't like he was going to be staying long. He caught an underscent of something sweet. Aakonian. It hit him and he shook his head at his own stupidity. Once upon a time, this had been Gavaar's room. Unlike the others, it was empty. Of course it was. He'd had nothing. Still, he opened the drawer above where he'd found the charger for the pager. There was nothing, but dust and dead insects. The third drawer surprised him. Inside, covered in dust was a key, copper in colour. Lifting it out, he looked around for something to open with the key, but there was nothing. 

Putting the key in a pouch, Rocket looked warily at the pager. Green light blinked from above its screen and he approached it, picking it up gently as if it would break if treated indelicately. Given how old it was, it wouldn't surprise him if it did. It flickered into life and as he disconnected it from its power source, he exhaled a breath he'd not known he was holding. It wasn't dead. It was going to work. 

And, if he was lucky, it would bring his family back to him.

* * *

Gamora didn't mind the Ravagers. In fact, she liked them, but she needed her own space which was impossible on a crew with several hundred people on it. That was why she'd taken sanctuary in the Guardians' ship. Nothing against the Ravagers, God knew she'd spent time with far less savoury types than them. The ones on the Starhawk were good people. Criminals, admittedly, but they weren't half as bad as she'd expected them to be. 

Then again, maybe they were polite to her out of fear. Being an adopted child of Thanos had that effect sometimes.

Holding Godslayer on her knee, Gamora studied its blade, even though she knew her weapon better than she knew herself. She knew its inscriptions - an ancient Titanian proverb relating to strength and valour in battle. Its edges were sharp, she had made sure of that, as she did each day. The grip of its hilt was excellent. She knew these things already, but it calmed her against the fact that Rocket was still missing. When they found Kylam, she was going to outrun Drax to get to the Kree first and then she would remove his head from his body. She would deal with Drax's disappointment afterwards.

Sheathing Godslayer, Gamora sat on her bunk, breathing in deeply. She could hear a high-pitched sound and closed her eyes, tightly, as if she could block out the noise. She couldn't, so she got up to see who it was calling for their services. They would have to wait, she thought as she stabbed the answer button with her finger. She frowned at the name. DT/UT23? Was it an android calling? She blinked as the screen turned blank and then showed a faint image. She felt her heart skip several beats, thumping painfully in her chest. _"Rocket?"_

"Picture's crap on this thing," he said, his voice wavering, not due to distress, but the device he was using. It was clearly very, very old. "But it's all I could find that would reach you guys."

Ignoring the rush of relief that made her legs shake, Gamora focused on the more important details, like the fact Rocket was right there in front of her. "Oh, thank-" She stopped herself. The chances of Kylam being close to Rocket were high. She had no time to waste. "Are you hurt?"

"Not much." Rocket's eyes told a different story, but she had no time to pry it out of him. She knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't tell the truth about whatever condition he was in easily. "I...I tried to get off the Darkwing."

 _Tried?_ "Are you still on there?"

"I'm somewhere worse. Son of a bitch sent me-" Rocket stopped. He looked away from her. "He sent me to...the..."

Now was the time to be gentler. She tried to soften her voice, even though she was terrified that the signal of his device would be less reliable than the picture. "Back where you were born?"

He nodded. He was still refusing to look at her. "Yep. And back to the prick who made me."

She understood his terror. Back on the world he'd killed to be free of, with the corpse of his creator lying somewhere near. More than anything, Gamora wished she was there with him. All she could do was talk. "He's dead, Rocket. He can't harm you now."

He looked at her and there was that look in his eyes. That tormented, frightened look. "He didn't die."

Gamora's mouth felt dry. "You've seen him before," she reasoned. "When you were under a lot of stress, you saw him."

"I crash-landed here and woke up in a bed in a part of the lab I've never seen before. I could hear him. I know how it sounds, but I also know I didn't drag my unconscious ass to a bed and tuck myself in there."

"He took _care_ of you?" Gamora knew her tone was too surprised to be of any comfort, but she couldn't help it. Taking actual care of Rocket had never been his creator's priority. All the man had ever done was hurt him, provide his basic needs, and overreact to small misbehaviours to the extent that he permanently scarred his creation. 

"He said he'd help me. So far, he's stickin' to his word which was always the only thing he was ever any good for." Rocket's eyes were on hers now. Accusing. "You still think I've gone nuts, don't you?"

"No, I don't, I-"

Rocket sighed at her. "In all the time I've known you, you've always been a real shitty liar."

"Rocket, I _don't_ think you're crazy. Not for this, anyway."

"Okay." Rocket said. "Go get the others and I'll call you back in five minutes' time. Then we'll see if I'm imagining him or not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely, absolutely ADORE Stakar and Aleta. In this, they've been separated for thirty years because when Stakar found out about Yondu's trafficking of children, he wanted to stop rescuing slaves because it wasn't the first time something like it had happened with one of the slaves he'd rescued with Aleta. It resulted in a pretty big fight that ended with the splitting of their relationship, but neither could bring themselves to divorce the other because they were so deeply in love with each other. 
> 
> I don't know if that's canon or not. James Gunn might turn around and go "Actually..." but I got the impression in Vol 2 that Aleta and Stakar were no longer together as husband and wife. I also got the impression that Stakar is a really sweet person underneath the stern Ravager captain surface and his reputation as a badass. Again, this is my take. I could be wrong.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guardians are reunited and finally see Rocket's creator for themselves.

"You want me to _what?"_

Rocket tapped his foot on the overgrown grass impatiently. "You promised you'd _help_ me," he reminded the Aakonian. He couldn't understand his creator's concerns over being issued with a couple of death threats. After all, his family weren't there yet. That was when the Aakonian's real troubles would begin.

"Yeah, but you didn't tell me that helping you would involve getting death threats from your friends."

"Yeah, well you didn't tell me that you smashed my mom's head in, did you?"

Gavaar, for some reason, looked away from him. He sighed. "Alright, I'll see them."

"Was that so hard?" Rocket asked mockingly. It felt good to throw those words back at the man, after all the times he'd heard them.

His creator shook his head a little, but didn't say anything about it. "Why do you even want them to see me?"

"Because _they_ do. Okay? You were presumed dead - _twice_ \- and here you are. It shouldn't be possible."

Leaning against the pod, Gavaar tilted his head, both eyes now fixed upon him. "They think you've gone insane and started imagining me, don't they?"

"So what if they do? They won't think it much longer, will they?"

Gavaar scratched his jawbone thoughtfully. "Maybe _I've_ gone insane."

"There's no maybe about it. Are you gonna help me or what?" 

"I said I would, didn't I? You should be able get a signal out here." Crossing his arms over his chest, the Aakonian nodded at the pager. "Go on."

Rocket looked at the little device in his hands. The number was still there, just waiting to connect him to his family again, the screen reflecting the skies above them. He took a deep breath, hoped the signal would hold up, and called the number.

* * *

"He said _what?"_

"He's alive?"

Stress was building up inside Gamora's mind, but she steadily ignored it. Stress was a killer. It clouded judgment and slowed responses, often fatally. She wouldn't succumb to it. "You heard what I said. All of you need to come with me. He's calling back." She was painfully aware that the five-minute limit was coming to an end and wasn't sure how long his device would last for before dying. To say she was feeling anxious would be an understatement.

"He's gonna call back?" Peter asked. His eyes were full of both horror and guilt. Guilt over what, she didn't know, but she could see it in his eyes. "With his dick of a creator?"

"Yes. We need to hurry." When no one moved, she lost her patience and clapped her hands together, startling not only her family, but the Ravagers in their midst. _"Now!_ We'll miss Rocket's call! _Move!"_ There was a surge of movement and she let herself breathe out, running to join her family ahead of the small crowd. A worry played at her mind that they would miss him, that if he was right and his creator lived, Rocket would be getting murdered or tortured just as he'd been given hope. 

_'Fear will limit your success, daughter. Fear nothing and you can do everything.'_

Gamora grimaced at the echo of Thanos' voice in her mind, but it was true. Maybe she couldn't do everything. She couldn't undo her past. But she could protect her family. She could do that. Stopping to allow Drax before her, she followed him as he stormed through their ship to the calling screen which was pulsing blue rapidly. They were close to missing the call when he reached out and stabbed the button with his finger to answer it. The large screen on the wall turned black. It flickered, showing a glimpse of pale red sky and amber eyes. Then, gradually, the picture cleared and focused, showing Rocket to them. No sign of any Aakonian was by him, dead or alive. Gamora felt relief pour through each one of her cells. _'Thank god.'_

"Rock." Peter laughed breathlessly. "Hey, man, how you doin'?"

"I've been better, Pete."

Peter shook his head. "Yeah, sorry, stupid thing to ask. I'm just glad you're not dead."

Rocket didn't say anything. He looked over his shoulder and then glanced back their way before turning the screen to face someone who had been standing just out of sight.

Gamora felt as if part of her stomach had dropped out from underneath her. She knew what - who - she was looking at. A young Aakonian, lighter-skinned than was healthy, scars covering his torso and the remains of a tracking device embedded into his left wrist. He was looking at them with the same level of distrust in his skull of a face as they had for him. He was stood a fair distance away, but still too close for comfort.

"Dude, _walk away from him."_ Peter hissed. "Rock, you're way too close to-"

"He's not going to hurt me, Quill." Rocket turned the device around so they could see him again. "Wouldn't have bothered getting me out the wreckage if he was just gonna kick the crap outta me later."

"Oh, yeah, 'cause he's never hurt you when you were already hurt, has he?"

"Do I look hurt to you, Quill?"

Peter set his jaw, looking unnaturally hard. "How do you know he won't hurt you?"

"'Cause he promised he wouldn't."

Gamora would have laughed, but she knew as well as Rocket did that promises had always been held sacred by his creator. They always got kept. 

Drax drummed his fingers on the console. "He's dangerous to you. He always will be. Trusting him would be a mistake."

Something strange was in Rocket's eyes as he looked at Drax. "Who said anything about trust? He hates Kylam, I hate Kylam and we both don't want him getting any more little freaks like me. That's all there is to it."

But there was trust, Gamora knew. Otherwise Gavaar's promises wouldn't have meant a thing to Rocket. "Kylam wants more Uplifts?"

"Yep. That's why he sent me back to..." Rocket jabbed a thumb in his creator's direction. "Good thing is, Gavaar doesn't feel like making any, so that's one problem dealt with. The biggest problem right now, is Kylam's coming here and we don't have a way offworld. We're setting up defences, but he's got more resources than we do."

"We figured he might have sent you back to Halfworld." Stakar Ogord said, from just behind Gamora's shoulder. "Lylla was able to remember how long it took before her ship ran out of fuel and Aleta knew where she was picked up. Did you happen to notice the coordinates before you landed?"

Rocket seemed surprised, but not displeased to see the Ravager captain. He scratched behind his ear. "God, I don't know. It was remotely piloted and I was pinned back by how fast it was going...Hang on." Turning his head, he yelled; "Hey!"

"What?" Gavaar was offscreen, but his voice sounded muffled, almost echoing. Maybe the device was finally breaking down.

"Did that blue fuck tell you the coordinates for this planet?"

"That was nearly eight and a half years ago!" The Aakonian's voice sounded clearer of a sudden. Considering the harm he'd done to Rocket, he had a remarkably gentle voice.

"Then you'd better think back real hard!"

"I didn't fly here myself." There was quiet for several moments and then Rocket's creator spoke. "NGC-4565-491...9-5622-4312. It's unmapped, so it should come up saying that the world hasn't been found."

"But it'll still guide us there, even if there isn't a planet to find." Aleta rubbed her chin. "NGC-4565-4919-5622-4312. At least we're in the right galaxy." She moved around her husband and pulled up the navigator, pressing in the letters and numbers, her mouth moving as she recalled them. "Rocket, did Kylam tell you how long it would take for him to join you?"

"Couple weeks at least." Rocket answered. "How long until you guys can get here?"

"Thirteen days." Aleta read. She squared her shoulders. "If we're lucky, you will not need those defences. But set them up anyway to be safe."

"No, I thought we wouldn't bother, now you've said you'll be here the same time he will be."

The Ravager let out a short huff of laughter. "Funny." She left the navigator and shared a look with her husband. "We'll leave you to talk with your team." Gesturing the Ravagers around them, she left with Stakar by her side, leaving the Guardians by themselves. 

For a short time, they looked at each other, with both tension and relief. Gamora wondered how they were going to make it through the next two weeks. It was doable, and they _would_ do it, but it was going to be tough.

"You shouldn't be there." Mantis said, her voice mournful. She hadn't been the same since Rocket had vanished. "It should be me."

"Don't be stupid. The only reason I'm alive is 'cause I'm useful to the blue fuck."

"You should've called us for help, Rock." Peter said. His eyes didnt have their usual warmth, still looking over Rocket's shoulder, as if afraid the Aakonian would choose to attack. Gamora had no doubt he was right to be afraid. 

"Pete, he'd have killed all of you. This isn't Ronan. This is worse." 

"We're your family." Drax's voice was unusually quiet, but there was a force behind it. "We have faced greater enemies than Kylam, and we have done it together."

"We'll do it together next time, okay?" Rocket's eyes went to the top of the screen. "Battery's gettin' low."

They didn't have much time. Gamora lowered her eyes to the floor. "Call us again in a couple of hours. We'll give you the number for the Jotarasitahn. It would help us avoid missing calls from-" The screen cut out and they were left with their own reflections staring back at them. Turning her back, Gamora rubbed the sides of her temple with her fingertips, pressing hard enough that it hurt.

"We gotta get there faster than thirteen days," Peter said. "No way am I leaving Rocket with that son of a bitch for all that time." 

"That's if we were given the right coordinates." Kraglin said grimly. "Somethin's not right with that asshole."

Peter huffed softly. "No shit. Come on, let's see how fast the Jotarasitahn can get. We'll come back down here in two hours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John, Tara and Sita were the names of Stakar and Aleta's biological children (deceased here and in the comics). The Jotarasitahn is named for them and is pronounced 'Jo-tara-seet-ahn'.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocket is introduced to his family. Stakar and Aleta come up with a money-making plan.

_'Stupid piece of junk,'_ Rocket stuffed it into one of the pouches hanging by his hip and stepped toward the pod, glaring at the top of his creator's head. "You could've been more friendly, y'know."

"Why?"

"Because I would've appreciated it. They're trying to help us."

"They're trying to help _you."_ His creator's arms appeared and he pulled himself out of the pod. "I can drop dead as far as they're concerned." He gestured to the pod. "The guns are underneath."

"Just gotta get to 'em. Good thing they left tools here." Rocket absently touched the outline of the pager. "I want to upgrade the battery life on this thing. Don't follow me."

"I promise I won't follow you anywhere unless you want me to."

Not entirely sure he could trust this promise, Rocket said; "Sure." Turning away, he could feel Gavaar's eyes on his back, but ignored them until he was halfway to the dorms. The charger was still stuck into the wall and he watched the bars slowly blink to show that it was charging up again. He could upgrade the battery. It wasn't hard to do, but it reminded Rocket of the fact he was in a place where the technology would be low-quality at best and derelict at worst. 

Well, there was no hiding away or ignoring the problems. He was just going to have to work with what he had.

Stopping by the armoury room, he looked wistfully at the empty bars on the walls that had once held guns, and hoisted a toolbox onto his shoulder. There was a lot of work to do, after all, and they only had thirteen days to do it in.

* * *

"It can't go any faster, Peter." Stakar's face was impassive, but his voice wasn't without feeling. In his years as a captain, he must have been in Peter's situation a hundred times or more. "Don't worry about it. No matter what, we will get Rocket back."

"What about the kid?" Aleta saw the confusion on his face and added; "The Aakonian boy who made him."

"He's not a kid, and he's sure as hell not a boy. He's a grown man."

Aleta wasn't convinced. "He's 23. He's a kid. What's the plan with him?"

Peter turned to Drax. "Drax, what do you want to do with Gavaar?"

Drax was quiet, lost in thought for some time. Finally, his expression cleared. "If it were possible," he said with a terrifying level of calm in his voice, "I would enjoy strangling him with his own intestines. The only problem is, he might die _before_ being strangled."

"Sounds like a good plan to me." Kraglin muttered.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Aleta's eyes were scornful. "You idiots! This is the biggest score you've ever been presented with and you want to slash it to nothing? Do you realise how much he could be worth? The bounty on his head is _insane."_ She pointed at something on a screen before her. "On Oorg, there's an offer of 250,000 units for his body alone. Imagine what they'll pay for him being brought back to them _alive."_ Quickly, she added; "We'd expect half of the take, of course."

"Bastard deserves to die."

"Talk that through with Rocket." Stakar advised. "It could set you up for life if you bring Gakhsi back to his world alive. Or you could just murder him. The choice isn't just yours."

Which would Rocket prefer? Revenge or money? 125,000 units wasn't to be turned down lightly, but there was an irony in selling the man when he'd once planned to sell Rocket, for 25,000 units _less._ Peter sighed and let his head lower. "We'll ask Rocket. Maybe with your half, you can buy a faster ship."

Stakar let out something like a laugh. "You can talk. You're still using that ancient thing I swapped with you for the Quadrant."

"It happens to run pretty well." Peter defended himself. The truth was, he hadn't felt like looking for anything new yet, but Stakar didn't need to know that. "How about we call the Aakonian embassy and ask for his price if he's brought back home alive?"

* * *

_'Yeah, well, you didn't tell me you smashed my mom's head in, did you?'_

He'd done a lot of bad things to his Uplift, but the worst thing had been murdering his mother. Kylam had called it 'killing', an impersonal word, like he'd just gotten rid of a pest, but it was a murder. He'd murdered 89P13's mother. How 89P13 had learned the method used to murder her was a mystery, but it didn't matter. He knew what had happened. 

The Uplift was on the other side of the pod, dismantling it at a speed Gakhsi couldn't keep up with. It was amazing. As an infant, he'd always been able to get into anything, squeeze into the smallest spaces, rip his way through walls until he learned not to do it (at least not as much). If he'd had access to tools back then, Gakhsi was sure he would have escaped much sooner. 

Every so often, his Uplift stopped and paused, thinking about something before getting back to his work. He was going to call his friends soon. Gakhsi couldn't stop thinking of 89P09, whose bones lay in a small plastic container, buried deep under soil that had long grown grass over it since he'd buried her. He stopped what he was doing on his side of the pod and walked around it, careful of his proximity to 89P13. "Your mother-"

"Shut up about her."

"Do you want to see where I buried her?"

89P13 froze. He turned his head, suspicious amber eyes looking up at him. "Where is she?"

Gakhsi backed away a few feet and pointed to the water lab. "That's the water lab. Just outside its entrance, you'll find pebbles in a rectangle shape. She's under that."

89P13 looked at him, still full of distrust and edged away, growing smaller in the distance as he approached the water lab and then started looking for his mother's grave. Just as Gakhsi started to think he wasn't going to find it, he dropped to his knees, looking at something on the ground. After almost eight years, 89P09 had her son with her again.

Gakhsi turned his face away. He would never be able to pay his respects to his own mother's remembrance site, but he owed that luxury to 89P13. Focusing on the pod, he unpieced it until his side matched 89P13's and light was dying from the skies. He looked at the water lab again. The small, lonely figure of his Uplift was still there, knelt by his mother's side. He had been sitting with his mother for hours. Gakhsi had promised not to follow him unless wanted, but nights grew cold on this world. He traced 89P13's steps until he stood ten feet from the grave. He could tell by the way 89P13's ears flicked up that the Uplift knew he was there. "It's getting late."

89P13 looked up from the rectangle of smooth, shiny stones. He held one in his hand. "Why'd you kill her?" His voice was cracking under the strain of asking. "Why did you do that to us?"

Gakhsi looked at the tiny grave. She was bones underneath. Maybe even dust. Poor little thing. She hadn't deserved the fate he'd given her. "I never meant to part you. She was your best friend before Groot came along, and after your sister died, she was all you had. She didn't like me." He looked at the Uplift again, who was staring at him with tearless eyes. "She was right not to, but one day she bit me, trying to stop me from touching you, and I...I got angry." _Like he always did._ "I saw her as a problem to get rid of, not a mother protecting her last baby."

89P13 sounded like he was choking. "I needed her."

 _'You still need her, don't you?'_ "It was the worst thing I ever did to you."

"You did it in front of me, didn't you?" 89P13's grip on the pebble tightened. "Did I know what happened? Was I sad?"

"You were just a baby, but you did know what happened. You cried about her for hours."

89P13 looked back where his mother lay. "You took her from me _twice._ First when you killed her, then when you made me forget her. You had no right to do that, you bastard. She was _my_ mom."

"I've seen my mama's last moments a thousand times. I didn't want that for you."

"Didn't stop you from killing my mom, did it?" Irritably, 89P13 rubbed at his eyes. "Why did you _bury_ her? Awful lot of trouble for a problem you wanted to get rid of." 

"Killing mothers before their children's eyes in cold blood is a Kree habit. I buried her to convince myself I wasn't becoming one of them. And because....because I was sorry for what I'd done to her and to you."

"It doesn't matter if you're sorry or not. You can't make up for it."

It would never matter how much he regretted taking her life, 89P13 was right. It was done, no apology could make it better. Nothing could. "No, I can't."

"And the...the others. My brothers and sisters. Didn't matter about them, right? They were dead, it must've killed my mom inside, but so what? They were just _prototypes."_ His Uplift spat out the word like it burned his mouth. "Never felt a damn thing about them, right?"

Gakhsi turned his head to look at the black sea, rippled by moonlight above. "Three of them were already gone when I first met your mother. No, I didn't feel a thing about them. It's a heartless thing to admit, but I didn't know them enough to feel anything. She knew they were gone, but it was clear from the first day that she was staying alive for you and 89P12." A wave crashed silently on the shore and when he breathed out, he could see a small cloud where he'd exhaled. "I promise you, I would have kept her alive if...if Kylam had wanted her."

"Why didn't _you?"_ Tears were brightening 89P13's eyes. "Why didn't you fight for her?"

"I had no power against him." Gakhsi paused and corrected himself. "I have no power against him. If I'd rebelled against Kylam, he would have sold the both of you to be used as breeding creatures. I couldn't fight for her, but I _did_ want her. I wanted her as much as I wanted you."

89P13 hurled the stone he'd been holding onto the grass, just below his mother's grave. _"Bullshit!_ You didn't want me. You never wanted me! For most of my life, I thought you _hated_ me!"

"I can't hate-"

"You know what Kylam called you? Hmm? You know what he said you were to me?"

Not sure he wanted to know, Gakhsi said; "What did he say?"

Standing from where he'd been knelt for the past several hours, his Uplift peered up at him with disbelieving, rage-filled eyes. "He called you my father."

 _'Fuck.'_ "Did he?" 

"You never wanted to be, did you? I was just your favourite little punching bag, your ticket out of slavery. Wasn't I? You didn't even give me a name."

The cold was piercing. Gakhsi ignored it. "I was told not to get attached to you."

"Well, at least you did what you were fucking told, didn't you?"

"I didn't." The words charged out before he even knew he'd said them. He stepped back, several steps, from his Uplift whose eyes reflected yellow-white in the moonlight. 

"What?"

Not for the first time, Gakshi wished Kylam had just ended his life after removing his tracker. He kept his eyes on his Uplift. "I do care about you. I always have and I know it sounds like a lie, that I'm making it up to manipulate you, but it's the truth."

"You _hurt_ me."

"I know I did. I'm sorry. I was so fixated on getting my freedom back that I didn't realise that your life is more valuable than my own. I was desparate and I was scared and I saw caring for you as a weakness, so I pushed it down and pretended it didn't exist. It was what I was taught and by the end of the year, I couldn't ignore it any more." Closing his eyes, he turned his head so he couldn't see the look on his Uplift. "That's why Kylam calls me your father. He made it so I can't have children of my own, not that I deserve them. You're the nearest thing to a child I'll ever have."

"You say I'm the closest thing you got to a kid, but you did-" His Uplift gestured to himself. _"This._ How fucked up _are_ you?"

"I'm not like that now." A thought occurred that, although _he_ thought he was different, his Uplift might not think so. "Am I?"

"Not right now."

Earning back 89P13's trust was going to be difficult. Maybe even impossible. But he had to try. "Never again, I promise."

"Don't start givin' me false promises. You'll gonna get pissed off at some point."

There was no use pretending that he was suddenly some kind of saint. "When I do, I won't take it out on you, and I'll stay away from you until I'm not pissed off. I can promise that much."

His Uplift looked back at the small grave. "I wish you could've been more like this before."

"So do I." Daring to take another step forward, Gakhsi crouched down before 89P13. Dew was starting to harden into frost. "It's getting cold out here. Will you go back inside?"

"I don't need you to be my dad now, Gax. I already have one."

Maybe it was a test from his Uplift. Maybe it was just 89P13's way of telling him not to push his luck. "I'm sure he's nice to you, or you would have said that you _had_ one."

89P13 huffed out something that could have been a sound of irritation or a laugh. Either way, his breath misted the air. 

"I'm not trying to be your papa. I'm just pointing out that nights get icy on this planet. The last thing you need is frostbite." He followed the yellow discs of 89P13's eyes to his mother's resting place. "She'll still be here tomorrow."

89P13 looked at the grave again and, slowly got to his feet, walking around to get rid of the stiffness in his legs. He looked down at the frosted dew on the ground, and then up at the night sky. "How long was I by the grave?"

"I don't know. Seven hours?"

"You asshole. I had a very important call to make."

"You can still make it. The pod's finished." 89P13 walked a foot closer to him and the difference was clear, despite the small change. "You were always good at dismantling things, but it was incredible how quickly you got your side done."

"Yeah, well, I had practise over the years."

"Do you...have a name now?"

"Yeah." His Uplift glanced up at him and then said; "Rocket."

 _Rocket._ "That was your first word. Can you remember that?"

"I remember you gave me a grape for saying it." The Uplift stopped by the entrance. "You should've told me this stuff years ago. Even the...attached part."

"They don't like emotional slaves on Hala." 

"There are _robots_ more emotional than you." His Uplift said. His voice was as cold as the air outside. "It doesn't change things. You really fucked me up. I used to think about finding your home planet and blowing it up. Hunting down your people until all that remained of them were my memories of you. And I'm not talking clean kills, here. I wanted to torture every Aakonian I found to death."

"What stopped you from doing it?"

"Groot." Stepping back, rubbing his hands against the cold, his Uplift said; "If it hadn't been for him insisting I deserved love, I would have been a monster for real." His eyes were hard. "He wasn't just _attached._ It was more than that."

"I know what I've told you makes it worse-"

"Not just that. I could've helped you. I would've, if you'd told me what he'd done to you, what you were trying to get, how you were feeling. Ever since I found out you were made a slave, I've been able to understand why you were so mean. It'd make anyone mean. I can be mean and I only spent a _year_ with you. Imagine what eight years with Kylam could've done to me."

"I'd rather not imagine that."

"Me neither. But if you'd told me the truth, maybe treated me a little nicer, I would have killed Kylam. I would have freed you." He didn't wait for a response. He turned on his heel and disappeared into the facility, leaving his creator in the cold world outside it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocket learns of his creator's worth.

"It's been eight hours." Peter said aloud, into the silence that had been blanketing them for the past three hours. "Why hasn't Rocket called?" The only reason he could think of was that Gavaar hadn't been as forgiving as Rocket had thought. The idea that the Aakonian might have taken advantage of Rocket's trust made Peter feel nauseous. What if he'd been overpowered? For all they knew, Rocket was _dead._

"He could have lost track of time." Gamora said. Her eyes were focused yet distant, as if she didn't believe it either. "Try calling the number again. Maybe he'll pick up this time." 

Feeling more like he was wasting time than doing anything useful, Peter found the number Rocket had used and called. The screen showed waves of blue as it tried to connect them. Just as he was about to give up hope, the screen turned black and flickered before showing that, after almost eight hours, Rocket had finally picked up. Peter breathed out. "Finally. What happened? You're six hours late."

"Lost track of time." Rocket answered. Something was bothering him, Peter could see it in his eyes. He doubted that losing track of time was the reason for Rocket being late. How could anyone lose track of time when they were stuck in their worst nightmare? "I upgraded the battery on this thing, so it should be okay." 

Peter couldn't see any sign of Gavaar. He frowned. Not seeing the bastard was worse than seeing him. "Where's Pac-Man?"

"I don't know and I don't give a fuck. As long as he isn't close to me, I'm happy." Rocket looked around his surroundings and shrugged. "Happy as I can be."

"What made you lose track of time?" Gamora wanted to know. 

"That's none of your business. I just did."

"We were worried about you."

"Don't be. I'm fine." 

There wasn't any point in arguing, Peter realised. They could talk about it, properly, when Rocket was safely offworld and - most importantly of all - as far from his creator as they could get him. He scratched his jaw, thinking back a couple hours. "You wanna hear some good news?"

Rocket didn't look interested, but he shrugged. "Sure. What?"

"You know how high Gavaar's bounty is on Oorg?"

"I hope to hell it's not higher than any of mine."

"Oh, it's _way_ higher."

Rocket blinked. "How much higher?"

"If you combined all your bounty prices and multiplied them by ten, that's how much he's worth."

"Huh." Rocket was quiet for all of two seconds. Then he looked irritated. "How is he worth more than me?"

"He's done worse shit. Come on, this is a good thing. Five million units." Not the four billion that had united them, but it was one of the biggest scores Peter had ever been presented with. 

Rocket scratched behind his ear thoughtfully. "How would that work? We gonna drop him off?"

"No, the Ravagers have already offered to do that."

"Five million units," Rocket said, his tone one of wonder. "Just think, if we'd just gotten here before, we could've been millionaires."

"We have to split it with the Ravagers."

Rocket sighed. "Ah, well. Guess they do have to put up with him until they can drop him back home. The only problem is, I don't see him bein' too happy with this arrangement."

"He was gonna sell you out to someone a heck of a lot worse." Kraglin muttered. 

"Ugh." Rocket grimaced. "Don't remind me. Although, now you mention it, I could point out that going back home is a better option than Kylam." He adjusted the device he was holding, light reflecting in his eyes so they almost looked red. "Are Oorg expecting him alive or dead?"

"They're not expecting anything." Gamora said. "They're aware it's a dangerous journey. The government don't expect him to come back, breathing or not."

"It's not just the journey that's dangerous." Rocket pointed at Drax. "I bet you want to strangle him with his own guts."

_'How did you know?'_ Peter wondered. 

"I would very much like to." Drax admitted without any hesitation. "After all he's done, he deserves it."

Rocket looked away. "Not gonna argue with you on that one." 

"What's wrong?"

Rocket let his eyes move back to look at them. "Nothing."

Drax, who could see through Rocket's bullshit like a pro, clearly knew something was bothering him. "You want the scientist dead, right?"

"For seven years, I thought he was dead and never felt safe." Rocket said. "And now I know he's alive and I actually feel safer. 'Cause I know what happened to fuck him up, and I know he doesn't...hate me like I always thought he did. Things just aren't so simple anymore."

"Things _are_ as simple as they were before. The man orphaned you and subjected you to daily torture." Drax reminded him. "How can you forgive these actions?"

"I don't forgive him _any_ of that stuff!" Rocket snapped. "I'm holding that over him until the day one of us dies. I just can't hate him as much any more. If you'd offered to kill him a year ago, I would have asked to watch, but now...I don't want him dead, okay? I want him to suffer, but I don't want him to die."

Drax wasn't backing down. "He cannot harm you if he's dead."

"I don't want you, or anybody else, to kill him. Can you accept that or not?"

"No," Drax said. "I cannot accept it, but I will refrain from murdering him unless it is needed."

It was all Rocket was going to get, and he clearly knew it. "Okay." He looked from one person to the next, eyes narrowing. "Where's Groot?"

"Hangin' out with the captains." Kraglin said. He hadn't said anything, but Peter knew his face enough. The thought of the legendary Starhawk team babysitting an infant tree was something the Xandarian found hilarious.

A smile flickered across Rocket's face. "At least he won't be bored. What have you guys told him about this?"

"Just that we're gonna find you."

"Tell him I'm safe."

To Peter's left, Drax shook his head. Peter shared Drax's opinion that Rocket's safety was an impossibility on Halfworld, but he nodded. "Sure." It was a lie. But Rocket didn't need to know that. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocket finds that his creator can be useful. Stakar and Aleta make a discovery.

It was still cold the following morning, as Rocket sat beside 89P09's grave, a hand over her resting place. Over the still waters, the sun rose slowly, bringing warm colours, yet very little heat. As the sky turned from maroon to crimson, he looked at the grave. "Back later, Mom." Turning his head to the wreckage left from the pod, he could see her killer standing there, looking through it.

How easy it would be to have him killed. 

His vision darkened as he got up and he stayed still, his eyes shut tight, as he waited to feel normal again. It wasn't a mystery why he was feeling rundown. He hadn't eaten anything in three days. He would've seriously doubted anything on the planet was edible, but Gavaar had obviously found something sustainable or he wouldn't be alive. Opening his eyes, he could see the Aakonian looking his way and started walking to the crashed pod, ignoring the dizziness that accompanied his movement. 

His creator might have been blind and he might have been insane, but he apparently still knew when something wasn't right. "What's wrong?"

"I'm stuck here with you."

"Apart from that. You were walking funny."

"Maybe that's how I walk."

Gavaar rested his elbow on the pod. "I know I promised I wouldn't touch you, but if you have a seizure or collapse, I'm going to break that promise."

The last thing Rocket wanted was his creator's touch, but he also couldn't tell him what the issue was. Memories of getting knocked around or starved further when asking for food made explaining his problem damn near impossible. "If you touch me," he growled. "I'll claw your other eye out."

"I know why you don't want me to touch you. The one promise I won't break is that I'm not going to harm you. If you need or want something, tell me what it is."

"How do you expect me to do that?"

His creator thought about that. "What if," he said, "we did yes or no questions? Would that be better?"

"What if you don't like the answer?"

"Then that's my problem."

Rocket stepped behind the pod a little. It felt safer having the barrier between them. "Okay."

He couldn't see the Aakonian's face, but he could hear his surprise at the agreement. "Are you tired?"

"No." It wasn't a lie - at least not yet. He was too anxious to be tired, in spite of the sleepless nights. That was another problem in itself. Eventually, he was going to get too tired to function and that would bring issues he didn't want to think about just yet.

"That's good. Are you thirsty?"

"No." The water in the spigots still poured freely. It tasted stale, but it was good enough. At least, he hadn't gotten sick yet.

"Are you hungry?"

He really, really didn't want to answer. But the way things were going, it would be just his luck to do something stupid like collapse. "Yeah," he said, quietly enough that he could pretend he hadn't said anything. 

"I'll find you a sea-scorpion."

"A _what?"_ When he didn't get a reply, Rocket abandoned his cover and followed his creator with his eyes as the man waded into the sea. "Seriously? You pick right this second to go swimming?"

Gavaar ignored Rocket's disbelief in favour of taking a blade from his pocket. Slicing over his forearm, he held it over the water, letting droplets of his blood splash into the silvery-green waters. "Do you know what a sea-scorpion is?"

"No."

"You'll find out in about ten seconds."

Halfworld had little life on this part of its land. All it had above sea level were plants, tiny birds, a small selection of insects and its two current inhabitants. Rocket had just never figured there would be life under the sea when there was so little above it. He eyed the still waters curiously. If there were sea-scorpions, what _else_ lived beneath the surface? Something pierced through the flat horizon of water. Something sharp and poised to attack. "There's something comin' at you."

"I see it. Don't come too close to the water."

Rocket didn't need telling. No way did he want to risk getting attacked by the thing under the sea. The sharp object - a stinger - rose higher in the water, revealing its attachment to a spiny tail edged with spikes. He stared at the back of his creator's head. "It's gettin' closer."

"If I could catch one while blind, I can catch one now."

"You willingly went near these things when you were blind? What the hell is _wrong_ with you?!"

Gavaar ignored him again. The sea-scorpion was ten feet away and the Aakonian was not showing the concern that most normal people would have been showing. Then, as it came within five feet, he stepped forward and grabbed the sea-scorpion's tail, snapping it in two. The water that had been so still was frothing as the creature writhed beneath the surface and its attacker began dragging it back to shore. By the time it was on the grass, it was dead, the other half of its tail thrown to one side.

Out of curiosity, Rocket went to the sea scorpion to see what it looked like. It was large, its body was roughly his size, and it was heavily armoured by its shell. It had ten legs, not counting the two large claws it had. It wasn't a pretty creature. But it sure looked tasty.

"I'll steam it in a minute." Gavaar said. He found tape in his pocket and wound it around the arm he'd cut to bait the sea-scorpion. Then he saw Rocket's face. "What? Tape works fine if you don't have bandaging."

"Yeah, I know _that."_ Rocket pointed at the sea-scorpion. "How did you learn to catch these things?"

"Trial and error." Gavaar lifted the sea scorpion and bent it until it cracked, white flesh spilling from between shards of its black shell. Steam rose from its innards, and it took Rocket precisely two seconds to realise that the heat cooking the sea-scorpion was coming from the hands of the one who'd killed it. Gavaar didn't notice his stunned disbelief. He placed the well-steamed crustacean on a patch of grass and then caught sight of his expression. "What is it?"

Rocket stepped back, eyes on the Aakonian's hands. "What did you just do?"

"Don't worry, it's safe to eat."

"Yeah, because you cooked it with your _bare hands!"_

"You've never seen another of my kind use their heat defences?"

"I didn't even know your kind _have_ heat defences." All those months being handled by the man, not even realising that he could've been cooked alive at any second. Rocket didn't like to think how many close calls there had been. "You're not radioactive, are you?"

"Do you really think I'd give you radioactive food?" Gavaar looked at his hands and then pushed them into his pockets. "No, it's more like I'm using my own energy to create heat."

Rocket reached for the sea-scorpion, touching its dark shell to see how hot it was. "How does it work?"

"My kind are born with heatplates underneath their shoulderblades. That's where the heat comes from. It travels down the arms and out through the hands."

The sea-scorpion was cool enough to pick up now. It smelled good. Edible. "Why doesn't every Aakonian use it? It's a hell of a defence."

"Because it's not good for us. There are accounts of people getting cooked alive because they've used it for too long or they've gone too hot. Then there's the fact that Oorg outlawed it. And most people have their children's heatplates removed so they can't do it."

Rocket sniffed at the sea-scorpion's flesh to check for any poison it carried inside its body. Nothing. It was all good. "Could you kill Kylam with it?"

Gavaar turned his head to look at the sea. It was still again, calm and beautiful. "When you met Kylam," he said, "did you notice what his eyelids looked like underneath his warpaint?"

"Kinda. They were scarred." Rocket tapped his thumbpads on the shell. "Was that you?"

"No, that was my father. It didn't save Il-Sahn or his mama, but Papa managed to scar Kylam for life. Fifty years after that, he used the heat defence to kill Il-Sahn who could take heat as well as any Aakonian." His creator looked back at him. "I don't think I'm old enough to kill a Kree with it."

Rocket nodded. "Okay." He pressed his thumbpads onto the shell, feeling it bend underneath them. "Have you ever actually killed someone with it?"

"I have, but it isn't up for discussion."

The shell broke, revealing more of the sea-scorpion's meat. Rocket picked up a piece and hesitantly tasted it. It was salty, a little too rubbery, but he'd eaten worse things and the meat was still warm. "It's not so bad."

"Good." His creator disappeared from view behind the pod. Going by the metallic scraping noises, he was taking apart some of the pod.

Rocket finished half of the sea-scorpion and licked around his jaws. It was surprisingly tasty, now he was used to it. "Maybe when you get back to Oorg, you could write a cookbook."

"Yeah, there could be a section on how to make grass soup. Who wouldn't want-" Gavaar stopped. There was a moment of silence. "Oorg?"

"Yeah. Home, sweet home."

Gavaar looked over the top of the pod at him. "What do you mean, when I get back to Oorg? I have no intention of leaving this planet."

* * *

_Ohh, my love_  
_My darling_  
_I've hungered for your touch_  
_A long lonely time_  
_And time goes by so slowly_  
_And time can do so much_  
_Are you still mine?_

Stakar closed his eyes against the Terran melody. Why had he allowed Quill to play his music? Weakness, he supposed. He felt Aleta's presence to his left and allowed himself time to enjoy it. How long had it been since he’d felt so complete? Nearly thirty years? The worst part was that the past thirty years had felt like they had gone quicker than a heartbeat. He was getting old. He turned his face to look into his wife's direction. "What is it?" 

"There's a wreckage. Our visuals have noticed movement inside."

Maybe there would be hostages. They were on the cusp of Kree territory, after all. Stakar rubbed his chin. "Think we should go look?"

"Might as well." Aleta said in the tone that let him know she had already made that decision. "Our guys are bringing it in as we speak."

"Then I better get off my ass and go investigate with you, hm?"

Aleta kicked the side of his chair. "Hurry up if you want to walk with me."

Getting to his feet, he followed the briskly moving figure of his wife, unable to keep his eyes above her waist. Despite the fact that she was as old as he was, she still had a fantastic ass. As they neared their destination, he forced himself to become serious. He knew well what kind of danger they could be walking into and he needed blood circulating around his brain, not his dick. Nodding to one of his boys, he stopped outside the broken craft. There was deathly silence as Aleta held up her hand in a silent order and, sure enough, there was the sound of something scattering around inside the craft. Pulling out his gun, he tapped the door of the craft. "Come out here, we won't harm you," he called. Possibly a lie, depending on the people inside the craft. "We're going to count to five. If you don't come out, we come in."

"One!" Aleta said, loud enough for the inhabitants to hear.

"Two!" Stakar continued. 

"Three!"

"Four!

Aleta aimed her blaster at the craft. "Fi-"

The door opened. Out came a brown hand, slick with blood, smearing red over the outside of the ship. Then, from the shadow, came a creature, unlike any animal Stakar had ever seen. It had no legs, instead having metal rods that bent when it took a step. Its fur was blue, which was strange enough, but what really took him by surprise was its head. The top of its skull was metal, long blue ears somehow poking through the helmet that appeared to be welded to what remained of its own skull and the eyes were little red discs that caught the light and shone unnaturally. It looked up, catching Stakar's eye. It looked back, to where its companion stood. "Pop, I don't think these are friendlies."

Stakar and Aleta exchanged stares. There were only two other talking animals either of them knew - Rocket and Lylla. They stepped toward the craft and were met with the sight of a man, Terran if the blood colour was anything to go by, with curling grey and black hair. His other hand was non-existent, just a stump. Now they were closer, they could see that the hand outside of the ship was partially severed. Unsalvagable, probably. "We're not Kree if that's what you're afraid of." Stakar said. "Come out and we'll take care of your injuries." Only the Kree could have done something like this. God knew why, but Stakar had more than enough experience with the Kree to know when they were involved with something. 

"We'll make sure no harm comes to your son." Aleta said pointedly. "Come on."

After a pause and the little blue thing pulling on his coat, the Terran stepped out, dark brown eyes blinking in the bright light. "They...they got us," he muttered, swaying where he stood. "They got us."

"Tell us about it when you're feeling better." Aleta ordered. She helped Stakar support the man, not even blinking when his blood dripped down her arms and down her fingers. It was bright red in colour. Definitely Terran.

"Tell us your names." Stakar said. 

"I'm called Hank. My son..." Hank stumbled and managed to regain his footing, staggering along with them with great effort. "His name is Blackjack."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are asking if I gave Gax a superpower, the answer is that I actually gave his species a superpower. I just thought about how neat it would be if this species from a notoriously hot planet could create extreme heat of their own accord to defend themselves with. Unfortunately, it's easier to hurt someone than kill them, hence why Kylam is still walking around and being his arsehole self.
> 
> Also - Blackjack is here! Along with his own creator who is from our own Earth. They are what Rocket and Gax could've been.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackjack talks. Gavaar opens up to Rocket about his history with interplanetary travel.

The weirdest thing about aliens was that they didn't really differ that much from Terrans. Sure, they had wildly different skin colours, eye shapes and often a higher amount of limbs than the average Terran, but that aside, they weren't all that different physically. In fact, Peter had grown so used to people from other worlds that seeing someone from Earth was a shock to his system.

The man - an ex-scientist from Halfworld - was called Hank Jacobs. He had curly hair that had once been black, but was now salt-and-pepper, thanks to age. His skin was brown and unblemished aside from the stumps where his hands had once been. The Ravager medic had removed one, because the Kree who had grabbed Hank had been idly removing parts of his fingers when he'd either grown bored or found something more important to do. The remaining hand was so damaged and infected that Hank was going to be in for one hell of a shock when he finally woke up. 

"Well," Aleta said, just behind him. "This is unexpected. Terrans almost never make it this far from home."

"Where I come from, talking animals are a myth. Stories we tell kids." Peter turned his head to look at the captain. "Terrans have never made an Uplift before. This guy is probably the first guy in history to make one."

Aleta let her eyes drift to meet his. "You're probably right. You should go talk to his son." At Peter's quizzical stare, she explained further. "His Uplift knows him as his father. This man is no ordinary Uplift Technician as we know them to be."

Glancing at the technician who was prone in the bed, Peter turned away from him and looked at Aleta properly. "This man was at those laboratories. What are the chances he knew what was going on with Rocket? What Gavaar was doing to him?"

"It's possible." Aleta started walking away, lightly bumping his shoulder with hers so he would follow. 

Peter grimaced. "If Hank knew what Gavaar was doing, then he's just as bad as he is."

Aleta didn't say anything, but in his peripheral, he could make out a tiny, almost imperceptible nod of her head.

* * *

"What the hell do you mean, you made a deal?!"

Retreating around the back of the pod, Rocket hoped to hell that Gavaar wouldn't climb over it to confront him. "Don't get mad!"

"I'm not mad!" Gavaar yelled. 

_"Then why are you yelling at me?!"_

_"I'm not yelling! I'm just talking loudly!"_

Making a mental note to steal that particular line the next time he was yelling about something, Rocket edged away from the pod. "You are yelling and you promised me that you would walk away the next time you got mad!"

"God- _fucking_ -dammit." Gavaar muttered. There was a long stretch of quiet, broken only by the sound of birds calling to each other. His creator breathed out and said; "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"It wasn't being yelled at that got me worried."

"I'm sorry I got mad and didn't walk away from you. I promise I'm not mad now."

His creator wanted to talk and Rocket knew he wouldn't be able to hold him off for the entirety of their time together. He scratched the back of his head and retraced his steps so they could see each other again. To his relief, the Aakonian didn't make any movement toward him. "You can't stay on this planet. Not any more. You know who's comin' here."

"I won't break."

"Maybe not right away, but you will." Rocket crossed his arms. "And it wouldn't be your fault, not really. The blue fuck knows you, knows your weak spots and what hurts you most. He'll hurt you 'til you break, 'cause that's what he does."

"I'll kill myself before he comes."

"No, you won't. Most people do that at their lowest points. Your last lowest point was the day I got away from you. You'll be scared when you see him, but your instinct to live will kick in and save you and then what? You'll be so weak that you won't stand any chance against him."

"Someone must want to kill me."

Drax would be happy to offer his services, but Rocket knew he wouldn't be able to ask that of him. "You have a bounty on Oorg. A really, really high one. But you need to come back alive or we don't get anything."

Gavaar sighed. He looked up at the sky and rubbed a hand over the back of his head. "You know what happened the day Kylam abducted me, don't you? To those children."

"Yeah. I know."

"Have you ever seen someone die of space exposure?"

Thinking of Yondu, his blue skin mottled with bright, pale ice, Rocket said; "I've seen...somebody who died of it."

"Imagine being forced to watch nineteen people you know and care about die like that. Imagine hearing them cry and beg for someone to save them. Imagine begging the adults not to do it and them laughing at the way they screamed before they were thrown to the stars." Gavaar lowered his arms. "I'm scared of space."

"How did you get here if you're scared of space?"

"Same reason I made you. I wanted to be free. If I had to go in a spaceship, that was just something I had to do. Look," Gavaar met his eyes. "I cannot go on another space journey and if I am forced into it, I will not be cooperative."

"Won't you do it for me?"

"I can't do it. Not even for you." Gavaar took a step, closer. Rocket found he didn't mind. "But I will make sure Kylam won't ever touch you again."

* * *

Blackjack was not an Earth rabbit. For one thing, he was a dark, steel-blue with a nose the exact colour of a ripe eggplant. And for another, no rabbit had half of its skull replaced by a metal helmet. 

At least, Peter didn't think so.

"So," Stakar said, breaking what had been an uncomfortable silence. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Are you referring to what made me so goddamn metallic or are you asking me how Pop ended up losing both hands?"

"Let's go for the second option, for now." Stakar decided after thinking it through. "My crew and I found you both deep in Kree territory, your dad was badly hurt and you were pretty shaken up."

"You'd be shook up, too, if you'd seen people torturing your dad." Blackjack swallowed. "I told you a little, already, about the guy who took us, but seeing as there are other people here, I might as well start from the beginning."

Peter nodded, not saying anything, for fear of distracting the rabbit. Whatever his story was, it could give clues to Kylam's whereabouts and they were important to know.

"It's just been Pop and me for seven years. I had sisters, once, but we had to leave them behind in the lab, so he's kinda the most important person in my life. We relocated to Astra and that's where we've lived until a couple weeks ago when we were taken from our home."

"Did you see who took you?" Gamora asked.

"Yeah. Mix of people. All guys, all mean-looking. I thought they were bad, but then they took us to this big, blue guy they called their master and he was really bad. First thing he did was take Pops' glasses and snap 'em in two. What kind of asshole does that?"

"We can find your dad new glasses." Stakar offered. "It's not a problem. Did you learn the blue guy's name?"

"No. He wanted me to call him my master, too, so I just pretended I couldn't talk so I wouldn't be forced to. Then he started hurting Pop and I couldn't keep quiet anymore." Blackjack sighed. "He cut off a knuckle from each finger on Pops' hand. Every day we were on his ship. One day, it wasn't him who came in. It was one of his boys instead. Pop headbutted him so hard he damn near knocked himself out, but it was enough and he grabbed me and ran. We got into this pod and somebody shot at it so it got all glitchy as we flew out, but it didn't matter, because we got away." Blackjack smiled, satisfied for a moment, then it dropped from his face. "Then it transpired that Pops' hands were all infected and then they wouldn't stop bleeding."

"We found you." Stakar reminded him. "You're safe with us. We know the man who took you. His name is Kylam. He's a notoriously cruel slaver and warlord. We're on the way to extract another Uplift he abducted, along with his creator. With luck, you won't have to see Kylam again."

Blackjack looked at them out of the red discs of his eyes. "89P13. That's who you're extracting."

Peter glanced at Drax and then at the Uplift. "How do you know that?"

"'Cause I heard bullets and that's the noise I associate him with. I also heard him crawling through the vents in the Darkwing. If there was a god at all, he'd have gotten stuck and suffocated to death."

Peter frowned. "Hey. He's our friend and-"

Blackjack held up a paw. "I don't care. He might be your friend, but he killed my sisters. He ever tell you that?" He tapped the claws at the end of his unnatural fingers on his metal legs. "And he's responsible for these two. So, y'know what? I hope Gax skins him alive and throws him in the goddamn sea. I really do."

 _'He hates Rocket.'_ Peter thought, horrified at the words that had just come out of the Uplift's mouth. _'And pretty soon, he's going to meet him.'_


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackjack and Rocket's history is explained.

**Seven Years Ago**

**HALFWORLD**

Above him, on the ceiling were round, bright circles of white. Blackjack lifted his head, trying to find his dad, but all he could see was the white sheet that had been put up so he wouldn't be scared by what his dad was doing to his legs. He knew a little of what was going on. His leg bones weren't designed to support him if he stood upright, so they were being replaced by strong metal. He sniffed at the air. "Pop?"

"Hey." Pop raised his hand above the sheet, his thumb up to show that everything was okay. "Are you in pain?"

"No." Blackjack sniffed again. "Blood."

"Don't worry, it's normal to bleed during this. If you're in any pain at all, let me know."

Blackjack looked toward the door to the room where he stayed with his sisters. They were always all together, except when they needed a surgery. He wanted to be back with them again and huffed out softly. "Go faster?"

"It won't be much longer. Another hour and you'll see them again-" Pop was interrupted by a shriek from next door. Room 57. There was always someone screaming there. Pop sighed and Blackjack could picture him rubbing a hand over his face, like he always did when he heard the screaming. "God."

"Make stop."

"I don't know how, son." Pop was quiet, ignoring the pained howls from Room 57 for some time. Blackjack could see flashes behind the fabric separating them. "Sounds a little different today."

Blackjack looked at the door again. Poker, Gofish, Snap and Uno didn't like the screaming either. They would be huddled together right now, wanting their dad and brother back with them. But they wouldn't be back for another hour. "Pop?"

"Don't worry. I put a record on before we left. It should drown out most of it."

That was good. Yes, he remembered now. Pop had started playing music to help them not hear the screaming. It would help his sisters feel better. "Which?"

"The Clash."

"Play again after?"

"You'll have to make sure your sisters don't mind." 

_"Pop."_

His dad laughed. "Fine, we'll put it on again. But that's it for today."

Blackjack smiled. The screams next door stopped. Everything was peaceful, quiet and then they started up again.

 _"You little monster!"_ the technician next door screamed at his creation.

Pop straightened up behind the cloth, letting Blackjack see his face. He looked very serious and almost scared, even though he was the calmest guy Blackjack knew. Pop was never scared. But he sure looked it as the seconds ticked by. "89P13 wasn't the one screaming," he said. His voice tremored. "It was Gax."

"Why?"

Pop didn't answer. His mouth tensed and he started grabbing the pain relief from the small desk by the surgery table. He pulled down the cloth and wrapped it around Blackjack's body, lifting him from the table. He glanced at the door and then into his eyes. "When someone mistreats you, it's only natural to fight back. 89P13's fighting back. And, by the sounds of it, he's winning. We have to leave. We'll find your sisters and get out of here, fast. Gax designed 89P13 to kill and I'm sure he can."

"He kill us?"

"Only if he thinks we're a threat." Pop went to the door, holding him steady in one arm. As his hand closed over the door handle, shots rang out and he started running to their room - Room 56. 

Blackjack could see leaves and bark ahead and his first thought was that someone had left a large plant lying around, but then it moved and roared something he was too startled to hear properly. He gripped his dad's shirt with his tiny fingers. "Pop!"

"Shh, it'll be okay. If we're quiet, we can-" Pop ducked as bullets flew his way. "My god!"

Still clinging to Pop, Blackjack looked at the moving tree again. He could see something, small and grey, standing on the top of it. Flesh showed through sparse fur and it was clear by the bloodstains - orange and sticky - clinging to his arms and chest that he had just been digging through someone else's flesh. He could see brown eyes. They were crazed and anguished and frightened him to his core. The other Uplift was out to kill and as he aimed his weapon, Blackjack realised he didn't care who he killed, just as long as they were dead. "Pop!"

"I'm sorry." Pop whispered. "I'm sorry for what happened. Just _please_ let me get my-"

Blackjack yelped as red blood sprayed out from his dad's temple. He thought his dad was hurt or even dead for two horrifying seconds, when Pop started running, shielding him with his arm. "No. _No!_ Poker! Uno! Snap! Gofish! Pop, we have to get them! He'll hurt them! Pop! Pop, please!" But Pop didn't turn back or hesitate as he ran and, as Blackjack realised he would never again see his sisters, he turned his face away from what had once been his home and pressed his hands over his ears to block out the new screams.

* * *

**Current Day**

**SPACE**

After searching for Drax for hours, Peter was surprised to find him standing by Hank Jacobs' bed, watching him with cold eyes. He stood by him, copying the man's actions in watching his fellow Terran sleep. "You okay?"

"I know this man. Rocket told me of him."

"Was he a bad guy?"

Drax turned his head to look at him. "I am starting to feel that all Uplift technicians are bad. This one knew enough to not want his colleague close to his son. He must have known what the scientist was enforcing upon Rocket." The warrior let his eyes go back to the Uplift technician. "If he chose to allow the abuse to continue, he is as much a bad guy as the one who committed the acts."

That was true. Peter looked at the other Terran's hands. "He'll never be able to make another Uplift."

Jacobs' long eyelashes fluttered. He frowned and then opened his eyes, squinting as he took in his surroundings. As he looked to his left, he blinked at them still squinting. "Where's Blackjack?"

"He's safe." Peter assured him. Whatever faults the man had, it was clear the affection went both ways when it came to him and his Uplift. "So are you. Blackjack told us what happened to you guys."

Jacobs closed his eyes and reached up his left wrist, jumping as the stump pressed into his cheekbone. He lifted the other arm and stared closely at his stumps. His dark eyes glassed over and he turned his face away. "I know about you," he said thickly. "I can tell you where 89P13 is."

"We already know." Peter said. "Your old lab buddy told us."

Hank managed something like a breathy chuckle. "No, we weren't buddies. Gax wasn't the kind." He put his arms down, though his eyes were still on his wrists. "He liked me, though. Only threatened me once."

 _'How sweet,'_ Peter thought. _'Sure sounds like he liked him.'_

Drax folded his arms over his massive chest. "He did more than threaten the child he orphaned."

Jacobs breathed out deeply. "89P13 lived in Room 57. Ours was Room 56. We heard his screams every day."

"What did you do to stop them?"

"I tried-"

"How?"

Jacobs squinted to try and see Drax more clearly, but gave up after a couple of seconds. "I told Gax about an Uplift who destroyed the water lab after her technician abused her. It happened the week Blackjack and his sisters were born."

Peter glanced Drax's way to see if he realised what Peter did - that Lylla and Blackjack had been on Halfworld together, however briefly - but the man didn't care about that. He only cared about the fact that Rocket's abuser hadn't been stopped sooner. 

"Every day, you listened to the screams of a tortured child and you did _nothing!"_ Drax seethed. "Rocket lived in misery and terror because of you. What happened to you at Kylam's hands was nothing in comparison to the things Gavaar did to Rocket. You may feel that you were wronged, but the fact is, losing your hands is an act of justice. Do you know why? Because you never used them to protect someone you _knew_ needed help."

Jacobs was quiet. He nodded. "Yeah," he said. "You're right. I just...I knew what he was capable of doing to people who angered him. My children have always come first."

Remembering what Blackjack had told them about losing his sisters, Peter cleared his throat. "Do you have others?" It wasn't impossible for him to have made more away from Halfworld. But, considering that they'd only met one of his Uplifts, it didn't seem likely.

"I used to. Blackjack had four sisters." Jacobs' breath shuddered. "I couldn't get them. I tried, but I got skimmed by a bullet and had to run with Blackjack. He was so young. He asked me hundreds of times when we could go back and get them, but I wasn't given permission to go back there." He used the bony edge of his wristbone to scratch his jaw. "I'll never be able to forgive myself for abandoning them. They were my daughters."

"You could only save one, Jacobs. And you saved him." Drax said. His voice was gentler now. Pissed as he was for Rocket, he still knew the pain Jacobs felt. He must have also known that Jacobs would never forgive himself. "My concern is that Blackjack blames Rocket for his sisters' deaths."

Hank sighed. "I've tried, countless times over the years, to explain just how bad Gax was. Blackjack can't see past what he saw the day we had to leave his sisters. I don't blame 89P13 for snapping. Who wouldn't? But the day he snapped, all he cared about was killing everybody he saw. To him, everybody was evil except for the large tree-man he was standing on. He would've killed me, he would've killed Blackjack and I'm sure he would've killed my girls, too, if he'd gotten to them. That's what Blackjack remembers."

"Hank, he's gotta work on that." Peter said. "I get it scared him, and it hurt to lose his sisters, but that wasn't Rocket's fault. It wasn't like he was thinkin' clearly. He went through a lot of shit on that day. Believe it or not, he's not proud of what he did to get out." A lie, considering that part of what he did to get out was ripping open his creator, but Peter let it go. "Right now, he's stuck there with the one person he'll admit to fearing, waiting for either us or Kylam to come find him. Blackjack and Rocket are gonna meet. And I don't want there to be _any_ problems with them."

Hank swallowed. It almost looked like he would refuse, claim it to be impossible, but then he nodded. "I'll do all I can to help him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so begins the plotline I have been planning for a year! The Blackjack-Rocket drama! WOO!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gakhsi loses a brother. Rocket is given an explanation as to how bad his creator's astrophobia is.

**SPACE**

"You failed me."

No words came from the olive-skinned Rajak. Even if he had known what to say, he would not have been permitted to say any words. His head, shorn from necessity, throbbed from where his Terran prisoner had headbutted him. He had been sent to retrieve a knuckle, to maim the Earth-man's hand so he would never create another weapon. Instead, he had been dishonoured and, worse still, allowed the escape of a valuable asset. 

"Zys, look at me."

Afraid, the Rajak did as ordered. The past three days had been agonising, awaiting his master's return. Master would not lay the blame on the fighters he paid for, those who were in charge of them while he'd been gone. No, he would blame the one who had failed him by providing their prisoners with the chance for escape. Terror shook his bones, but he did not let it show in his face.

"Do I tolerate failure?"

Zys was unsure what to say. _'Yes,'_ he wanted to answer. _'You tolerated Il-Sahn's failures in the ring when he got too old to fight. You tolerated each one of Fifteen's weaknesses.'_ But that would mean punishment too terrible to bear, so he told a small lie. "No, Master."

"Why did you fail me?"

"I was taken by surprise, Master." 

Without any form of warning, the Kree struck him across his cheekbone, shattering it, sending him to the floor. _"Did that surprise you?"_

"Master-" It was painful to speak, so the Rajak stopped, instead feeling his face for the damage. He could feel his separated bones moving beneath his skin.

"That Terran was injured." Master said, reaching for the whip he carried by his side. He didn't bother to issue a warning to his slave about moving away. Every one of his slaves, old and new, had felt the consequences of that for themselves. "He was weakened. He was _Terran_ , no threat at all. And he defeated you."

 _'Fear is weakness. Fear is weakness.'_ Zys forced himself to remember. All the same, his left leg tremored madly - a tell he'd never been able to get rid of. 

"I gave you a simple task. Go into the cell, remove his knuckle, then go out of the cell. And you decided you would lose me my asset and a prisoner." 

Zys wanted to look away from his master. Instead, he breathed shallowly and let his eyes - red as a Terran's blood - meet the purple ones glaring at him.

"Do you fear me?"

"Yes, Master." 

The Kree flicked the whip out, catching him across his throat. As blood poured from the Rajak's neck, he looked toward his four remaining slaves, all watching with detachment in their eyes as their brother in bondage bled out before them. They would mourn for him, amongst themselves, but it was not to be witnessed by their master. Kree had no acceptance of such things. "Is there anyone else who chooses to fear me, than respect me?"

Each one shook their heads.

"Your brother had more fear than respect," the Kree gestured to his dying slave. "He will drown in his own blood, the same as you will if you repeat his mistake. Is that understood?"

They showed their agreement with a collective murmur of; "Yes, Master." 

The warlord looked into each of their faces, coiling the whip which still leaked with dark green blood. "Fear leads to disloyalty. Disloyalty is a weakness. I will not tolerate it." He noticed their eyes flickering to the growing pool of blood around the Rajak's body. He allowed it. In his eyes, it would serve as a lesson. One of his slaves, a Kylorian, looked doubtful. "What is it, Ula?"

"Fifteen had no loyalty to you." Quickly, Ula added; "Not like we do."

The Kree disagreed. "Fifteen had loyalty towards me. The problem was he became attached to the weapon he made. You cannot be loyal to two things at once. Fortunately, the weapon attacked him before it escaped. His loyalty towards it has long died out."

"Do you think Fifteen knows we're coming, Master?"

"Possibly." It didn't worry the warlord if his slave knew or not. Nobody knew where he was and there was no chance of him escaping. "It is safer for you to subdue him before I come." Their final conversation enraged him, still. Nobody had ever dared bring up his daughter's passing and for one of his slaves to attack him with it...it had wounded him. It had hurt. And that was what angered him the most. The Kree did not trust himself to face the Aakonian. He was sure he would kill him before he could be used. The warlord turned away from his slaves, stepping over the body of the one he'd killed. "Do not forget what will happen if you dare to fail me."

* * *

**HALFWORLD**

The ground outside of all eight of the land laboratory's entrances was smooth and appeared to be entirely undisturbed. No one would think that Lylla's designs were hidden underneath the earth. It was a subtle design, no mounds of soil to betray the landmines hidden. They were small landmines, but Rocket knew from experience what kind of damage they would deliver. The only hint they were even there was from the small white stones placed a millimetre away from the landmines' locations. He looked at his creator. "What do you think?"

"I think it's no surprise at all that you like explosives."

"I mean, what do you think of the layout?"

The Aakonian tilted his head. "I can't see him missing them. Just have to make sure your friends don't get blown up with him."

Whether he fully approved of them or not, Rocket couldn't tell. He was sure Gavaar was wondering why he didn't use the weaponry the way he'd been taught - by pulling triggers and taking aim - but, hey, some people deserved to get blown up. Kylam was one of them. He looked at the water lab thoughtfully, wondering what had survived and been left there. Was it worth looking?

"It's not safe in there." Gavaar said. It seemed he could still read his mind. "There was a pregnant Uplift who blew up the laboratory to escape."

 _Lylla._ He'd almost forgotten her past life in the water lab. She hadn't been kidding when she'd told him about how she'd destroyed it. It was uninhabitable, but it still looked almost explorable. "Who told you that?"

"Hank Jacobs."

"Oh, yeah, I remember him." Terran, dark hair, glasses. Nice guy. "He lent you that tick stuff for me." Just to bother his creator, he added; "It wore off after six months."

"It's a lot easier being bald."

"Oh, please. You'd give anything for hair when it starts gettin' cold at night." Rocket looked at the water lab again. "You ever go in it?"

"Only to take calls." Gavaar answered lightly. He waved his yellow hand before Rocket's eyes, taking his attention away from the building ahead. "Promise me you won't go in there."

Rocket crossed his arms. "You _know_ I can't promise that."

"You can." Gavaar insisted. "All you have to do is say; 'Gax, I promise I won't go into the very dangerous water lab' and then not go in there."

"They could have left something useful behind."

"They didn't. All that's there is rusty walls, damp air and coldness. Also, I think it's haunted." Before Rocket could ask if he seriously still believed in ghosts at his age, the Aakonian went on. "Jacobs used to tell me constantly not to go down there and I should have listened to him, because he was right. Even seven years ago, the structure of that building was not safe. A water-damaged, bomb-damaged building isn't a good place to go if you're planning on seeing the next day."

"It's still standing, isn't it?"

"Alright." Gavaar mirrored him by folding his arms. "Why don't you call your dad and ask what he thinks?"

Rocket met his creator's eyes. "He doesn't care what I do!" It wasn't strictly true. Drax was pretty much fine with anything, but even he had his limits and exploring a derelict water-lab alone probably fell out of them. 

"No? I'm sure _my_ papa would have had an aneurysm if he knew about me going around the water lab."

"Your _papa_ was a jackass who couldn't keep it in his pants." Rocket snapped. Years ago, it would have brought him a punishment too awful to imagine, but he didn't get so much as an irritated look. Maybe the Aakonian had changed. Or maybe he'd heard it all before and couldn't be bothered to get mad any more.

"Maybe so, but he still cared about what his children got up to." Gavaar's eyes flickered to the entrance of the land lab. "Go on. Call your dad and ask. If he really doesn't care, I'll let it go."

"I don't have to prove anything to you!"

"No you don't, but it's the only way I'm dropping it."

 _'Stubborn bastard.'_ Rocket thought. He couldn't make the call, especially as he would have to live with Gavaar's smugness over being right, so he settled for glaring at his creator. "Fine, I won't go in the fucking water lab."

"Can you promise that?"

"God, yes, I promise! Are you fucking happy now?"

"Yes."

At least one of them was. Rocket looked at the land lab. "What about in there?"

"It's as safe as it can be. Anything life-threatening got disconnected or removed. Just be careful in there." Gavaar looked at the land lab, too. "Maybe you should avoid Room 56. It's falling apart."

"The whole _planet's_ fallin' apart and you want to make it your retirement home." Rocket said.

Gavaar sighed at him. "We already talked about this."

"No, we didn't." Rocket muttered.

"No? Then what did we talk about?"

"All I got from our conversation was that you can't see the bigger picture. I mean, I come here and tell you about Kylam, that he wants your skills to make himself an army and you still think that it's a better option to stay here and wait for him to claim you again."

"I told you why it's a better option."

"No, it's not. You can't seriously be more afraid of space than you are of Kylam. You can't be."

"I am. I told you that, didn't I?"

"It doesn't make any sense. Space never hurt you. Kylam did. How are you not more scared of him?"

His creator rubbed a hand over his forehead. He thought for a while and then lowered his eyes to meet Rocket's. "Would you rather spend the whole of your life with only me for company or would you prefer to spend a fortnight in Room 57's surgery room?"

Rocket felt his heart speed up, as if it remembered what had been done to it in that room. He sure did. The room, the thought of it, made his skin prickle under his fur, made his tongue feel like sandpaper. Going into the room he'd lived in was one thing. Going into the room he'd been made in was another. "Don't say that," he warned quietly, even though he didn't know what he could do if the Aakonian persisted. "Don't ever say stuff like that."

"I know it's hard to hear, especially from me. But space is... it's like my surgery room."

"You were able to ignore that, once. Why can't you ignore that now?"

"I didn't ignore it. They gave me drugs for the anxiety and it was a shorter trip. Five days from Hala. It was incredibly hard, but not impossible." The Aakonian wrapped his arms around himself. "Even if I had access to drugs and it wasn't a long journey on a spaceship, where am I going? Oorg? They _abandoned_ me. I have nothing there."

"What about your sister?"

"She's dead. One of Kylam's friends killed her the day he took me. Went into the house after we left it and...Look, I have no intention of leaving this planet. I'm done talking about the subject. _Drop it."_

Knowing a warning when he heard it, Rocket left the subject alone. He still knew that leaving Gavaar on Halfworld to be found by Kylam was not an option, but he wasn't getting anywhere by reasoning with him. Another thing he knew was that his creator's sister was still alive. Maybe that would help, if he could prove it to the man somehow. Wouldn't he want to see the sister he thought was dead? Whatever happened, Gavaar had to find a reason to want to face his fear. Rocket just couldn't come up with one beyond what he'd already explained to his creator. He needed help. "Okay. I'm gonna make a call.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocket learns about an unknown cost of his escape from Halfworld.

"How is this an issue?" Quill asked. "If he's got space issues, that's his problem. He can't stay on that planet any more than you can, Rock."

Rocket was impressed by his captain's unusual bluntness. "I'm surprised you got it in you to be so tough."

"What?" Quill scratched through his thick, dark blond hair. "I'm the toughest person you know!"

Rocket let his eyes drift to Gamora, who was sitting in the chair before the screen, Quill stood by her side. "No, _Gamora's_ the toughest person I know." Rocket turned his head to make sure he was alone. "Guys, he's not gonna come onboard. Not by choice."

"Well, he's gonna have to." Quill rubbed at one of his eyes lazily. "Look, you know I'd be sympathetic, but after all he put you through, I _can't_ be. He made you face your worst fear a _zillion_ times. He's not gonna go on a zillion space trips, just the one, so he can suck it up."

Years ago, he would've agreed with that sentiment. A large part of him still did. But another, really small part asked him if he was that evil to do something like that. Could he really stoop to his creator's level? It wouldn't hurt his creator, it wouldn't make him bleed or scar him for life. But it would terrify Gavaar. It would be like someone binding his creation to the table he'd used so much and leaving him to see if he would be hurt or freed. Gavaar deserved it, no question. Rocket just couldn't be the person to do that to him. "It's his table, Pete."

Gamora was the first one to understand what he was saying. She narrowed her dark eyes at him. "How do you know?"

"He told me." Rocket said. "And I'm pretty sure it wasn't an exaggeration. He never used to do fear."

Gamora closed her eyes briefly. "Wasn't it him who taught you about space?"

"Yeah. He taught me about constellations that I would see on other worlds, so I would have an idea where I was. Then there were the fun talks we had about how violently space would kill me if I let it. I think he's okay looking at pictures, but he's not what you'd call a stargazer." One thing he'd noticed about his creator was that he didn't give the stars in the night sky much of his attention. Personally, Rocket liked to see the stars. It meant he was outside and that meant freedom. 

"You don't get over something like that in a matter of days." Gamora said mildly. "Or unless you really have to. It might help you to ask about Kylam. When he remembers how bad Kylam was, I'm sure he'd want to distance himself from his master. Even if it means getting onboard."

"He's not gonna like that."

"He can't stop you from asking."

It was true. Questions had always been tolerated, to an extent, and his creator's newfound pacifism meant he was unlikely to face any repercussions by asking the same one over and over. "Guess not." He scratched behind his ear, looking at them all properly. Something didn't seem right with them. "How've things been?"

They exchanged looks. Finally, Kraglin looked at him and mumbled; "We picked up some people."

Feeling uneasy, Rocket asked; "What about 'em?"

The Xandarian was unusually quiet, his eyes avoiding Rocket's. "They were Kylam's prisoners." 

They were keeping something from him, Rocket knew. He glared at them. "Goddamn you, quit actin' like I'm delicate and tell me what the big fuckin' deal is! Bad enough I got Gavaar lookin' at me like I'm a bomb ready to go off without you people keepin' shit from me!"

That had an effect. They must have pulled themselves together, because they started making eye contact again. Kraglin cleared his throat. "They was your neighbours back in the lab."

 _Neighbours?_ Rocket thought back. There had been other Uplifts, on either side of Room 57, and he was sure the occupant of Room 58 was long-dead. That left Room 56. Hadn't that been Hank Jacobs' room? "Was their creator with them?"

"It was just one Uplift, but yeah, his creator was with him. Guy's name was Jacobs."

"I met him, once. Terran guy?"

"Yeah, that's the one." Kraglin confirmed. "He's not in great shape. Kylam don't want nobody makin' anymore Uplifts, so he cut off a joint from each of Jacob's fingers each day he had 'im. He had to have his hands removed 'cause of how bad the infection got."

Rocket winced. "That sounds about right for the blue fuck," he said drily. "But Jacobs had _five_ Uplifts. Where are the other four?"

There was a long stretch of silence. Seeing that Quill and Kraglin were unable to tell him, Drax nudged them to one side. "They were left behind in the laboratory. Jacobs was unable to retrieve them."

Time seemed to stop. Jacobs hadn't been able to get his four Uplifts out of the lab. He had definitely been around when Rocket had escaped with Groot, which meant only one thing. "He left them here because I would've killed him and - and them."

"Rock-"

"I didn't _know."_ His voice sounded desparate to his own ears. Desparate to find something he could use to forgive himself. "I couldn't think right."

"We know that."

Turning his head back over his shoulder, Rocket almost wished his creator was there just so he could ask what had ultimately happened to the four Uplifts left behind. What had Gavaar done to them? Did he know they'd been left behind? "How pissed is he?"

"He's not." Quill's voice was reassuring, but then he sighed. "Jacobs doesn't blame you 'cause he heard your reactions. He knew what was goin' on, so he understands why you were in such a hurry to get out. His Uplift doesn't see things that way, but we're working on that."

"He lost his siblings 'cause I was too much of a danger."

"He didn't go through what you went through. Jacobs is...nice to his Uplift. They're like a parent and kid. Jacobs even _named_ him."

"Named him?" Rocket hadn't been aware that Uplift technicians bothered to name their creations. He'd been under the impression that most Uplifts named themselves, like he'd done. "What's he called?"

"Blackjack. Like I said, we'll make sure there's no problems."

Rocket nodded. Something felt heavy in his chest. No matter what anybody said, he'd caused the deaths of someone's innocent siblings and it had to be one of the worst things he'd ever done. "Okay."

"You know it wasn't your fault-"

Rocket shook his head. "No, I don't know that. I know I was so fuckin' mad over losing a family I didn't even love, that I cost somebody else a family they _did_ love. I would've killed 'em all, you know that? We were above the lab and I had weapons aimed at the building, ready to blow it to hell, and I would've done it. I would've done it, if Groot hadn't asked me not to. I would have killed them, Pete. So, yeah, I'd say it was my fault. And this guy, he's right to be mad. I would be."

Quill's voice was more urgent now. "You didn't blow up the lab, Rock. And you didn't intentionally stop Jacobs from getting his Uplifts. It was just...it was a bad situation for everybody. It wasn't your fault that they got left behind."

"Yeah, okay." They didn't understand that it was his responsibility. He should've thought about who he would be endangering before escaping, but he hadn't. How many other families had been ripped apart because of him? "Okay. I don't want to talk about it anymore and I got things to do here. I'll call you back." Not waiting for a reply, he cut the call and looked down at the floor, fighting against the swell growing in his chest. They were dead, the Uplifts. They'd died alone, probably scared and in pain, and it was his fault. Placing the communication device on the floor, he took a deep breath and started walking to Room 56 to see for himself the damage he'd caused.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocket looks for the Uplifts. Gakhsi tries for his Uplift.

There were 65 rooms designed specifically for the scientists working on Uplifting various animals. He'd looked at their doors when looking for useful objects, the first day back in the building, but hadn't entered a single one. He let himself look into them on the way to Room 56, delaying the inevitable scene of horror he would witness. Room 65 had been emptied completely. Same for rooms 64 through to 59. He'd found out days ago that Room 58 had its lock welded shut, which had Rocket tentatively fascinated as to what the hell was hidden away inside, but he abandoned Room 58, wondering if Gavaar would remember what had once been inside it. Not that it mattered. Whatever was in it had to be dead by now. 

Skipping Room 57, he looked up at the dull, silver plate that informed him he'd found Room 56. He hesitated and then lifted up a hand. Pressing his palm against the metal door, he pushed it lightly so that if it didn't open, he could write it off and pretend he'd tried. It opened and he looked into the room, skin prickling around his external implants. His heart started speeding up in his chest and he closed his eyes. _'Nothing to be scared of,'_ he told himself. _'Just a room.'_

Just a room where four terrified Uplifts had died alone because of his actions.

The bulbs overhead flickered and gradually brightened the room. It was as far from Room 57 as any room could be. There were books Rocket recognised as being children's stories on a wall shelf, though each book was now covered in dust. Toys were scattered on the floor and the large cage at the back had a soft blanket thrown over it, now filthy and faded through years of neglect. The ends of the blanket were an inch above the bottom of the cage and he could see a type of thick padding. Jacobs might've been a technician, but he'd obviously put a lot of genuine care in raising his creations. 

_'Where the hell was_ my _care?'_ Rocket wondered. _'Why didn't I deserve it?'_ He looked over at the cage again. Were they still in there? Stepping over to it, he reached out for the blanket and then pulled it down. A cloud of dust puffed into the air, obscuring his vision, and when it finally cleared, he could see four tiny lumps under a thin sheet. He'd been thinking of them as being around his own age. He'd forgotten that they were infants. Turning away, he let his shaking legs lower him until he was sitting, his back against the thin metal bars. For the life of him, he just couldn't bring himself to look. 

A knock, almost quiet enough for him to ignore, brought him out of his thoughts. He stared at it for several seconds and hugged his knees close to his chest. "What?"

"Do you mind if I come in?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Alright. Why are you in here?"

"Kylam found Jacobs. And...and his kid." It came out less bitterly than Rocket wanted it to. "You said he was attached. You never told me he loved his Uplifts like his own fuckin' kids."

"He called them his babies. I thought you knew."

"I didn't know he meant it." Rocket muttered. He let the back of his head rest against the cage door. The room was so nice compared to the one he'd lived in that it made his chest ache. Squeezing his arms tighter around his shins, he rested his jaw on his knees and tried to breathe normally. "He did love them, didn't he?"

"Yes, he loved them. More than anything."

"That explains why this room looks like it had kids living in it." Rocket said. "Have you seen inside this room? Those little bastards didn't know how good they had it. They had a goddamn mattress. And there's books in here. I bet Jacobs fuckin' read to them each night. Why didn't I have those things?"

Mumbling a bit, his creator said; "I asked. Kylam wouldn't send them." The door opened a tiny bit and then shut as Gavaar remembered he wasn't wanted inside. "At least you had toys."

"Oh, yeah, the ones you threw out as I begged you not to. I remember that, and the minute-long limit you gave me to play with them." 

"I threw them out?" To Rocket's satisfaction, the man sounded appalled with himself. Then he groaned. "Oh, god, I remember. You were so upset."

"I was right to be upset. You fucking overreacted!" Stupid as it was, he was still upset over it, even at his age. They'd been his toys and he'd had so little that losing them had hurt. "I guess I can't be too upset about the bedding," he said, grudgingly. "I bet Kylam didn't give you any, so it makes a little sense that you didn't want to give me any."

"Bedding's an earned reward as far as Kylam's concerned." Gavaar said. "I don't expect you to believe me, but I did ask for things for you."

"You could've borrowed them. I'm sure Jacobs would've shared with you if you'd asked."

"If I'd asked my brothers - Kylam's other slaves - for something they had, they would have broken at least one of my bones. Things like that make asking for stuff difficult."

"You could've tried for me." Not fair, but it was even less fair that he'd wound up with someone like Gavaar to raise him. He could feel the cold penetrating his jumpsuit, almost hurting his cybernetics. He let it. "Jacobs left his girls here, didn't he?"

There was silence, lasting for so long that Rocket was sure he wouldn't get an answer, that maybe his creator had abandoned him so he wouldn't have to give one, the Aakonian said; "Yes. He did leave them here."

Clenching a fist, Rocket pressed it against his forehead. "I never meant for that to happen. I was trying to kill the bad people, not...not the innocent ones." _'I tried to kill you and you were the baddest one of all, and here you are. How's that work?'_

"You didn't kill them."

"Then who did?"

The door did its open-then-close trick again. His creator was lightly drumming the pads of his fingertips on the metal, Rocket could hear him doing it. "It's my responsibility, not yours. My fault. I was told what mistreating an Uplift can do. The one who escaped the water lab was mistreated and now there isn't a water lab any more. You were mistreated. Look what happened." Gavaar said nothing for a few seconds and breathed out a sigh. "Look what I did. Jacobs' daughters starved. It was too late to help them and they died in my hands."

Rocket turned his head. He saw the care taken in hiding the small bones of Jacobs' Uplifts. "You liked Jacobs, didn't you?"

"He was okay." Gavaar said. He stopped tapping on the door and Rocket could hear him stepping back from it. "He didn't deserve what I brought him." He coughed several times, the sound wheezing. "Is he alive or..?"

"He's alive." Rocket looked at his hands and shivered, thinking of how painful it would be to get a knuckle sliced off each day. "His Uplift hates me."

"You could take Blackjack in a fight."

Rocket huffed. "Yeah, I know, it's just..." He stopped mid-sentence and looked at the door as if he could see his creator through it. "Wait, I didn't tell you his name. How did you know his name?"

"Jacobs told me. He named them after card games from his homeplanet. Poker, Gofish, Snap, Uno and Blackjack."

Rocket let himself edge away from the cold cage. "Did...did I ever have a name?"

The door thudded and he tensed, but it seemed that Gavaar had just leaned on it a little too heavily. "Kylam said he would name you when you were finished."

"But did you have one for me?" Rocket asked, pointedly. "You named the dogs."

"I hoped somebody would take notice of their names and realise an Aakonian had trained them." Gavaar said, resentment in his voice. "Does it matter what I would've named you? You gave _yourself_ a name. That's better than any name out there."

"I want to know." It was all Rocket could say. It didn't matter one way or another, but that didn't mean he wanted to know any less. 

Very reluctantly, it seemed, his creator said; "I wanted to call you Sahn. It was my papa's name, but Kylam took it for Il-Sahn. Even if he hadn't, I doubt he would have been pleased if I'd called you that."

_'Why would you name a kid after someone you hate?'_ Rocket wondered for a moment. Then it hit him. A newborn baby was very easy to grow attached to. What better way to avoid loving someone than to associate them with someone you hated? "You could've named me after Kylam. That would have made him happy."

"Mmm," was the answer. He could almost hear his creator's distaste in the sound. "He's a psychopath. I couldn't name you for him. He didn't deserve that and neither did you."

"Psychopath. Huh." Rocket let himself look back at the four sad lumps huddled underneath the thin blanket. "I don't know. Maybe I'm not that different to him." 

The door opened. Thankfully, his creator didn't go to him, instead moving across to stand opposite him. "You are. You're nothing like him. He would feel nothing for those four," he pointed his bony finger over Rocket's head. "He wouldn't care how they would have felt, wouldn't have felt any kind of pity for how they died. That's psychopathic. It's normal and it's healthy, how you're feeling, but I promise you, it's a wasted feeling. They did not die because of you."

"Jacobs left them because-"

"Because I pushed you to your breaking point," his creator said. "That was my fault. What happened that day was my fault." He rubbed his cheekbone, close to where the scars ran from his left eyelid. "Every part of it."

Rocket let his legs stretch out, getting rid of a cramp that had just started up. "How d'you live with yourself?" He looked around the room with its sad, abandoned atmosphere. "Especially here."

"I tried not to, for a long time." Gavaar nodded to where Rocket was sitting. "I stayed in the spot where you are, waiting to die of something, and didn't. I also had Il-Sahn pestering me, which didn't help. It's not easy to die when you have someone constantly insisting that you get up and live." 

"Don't you hate yourself?"

"I hate who I was. I hate what I let myself become. That part of me died the day you stuck a knife into my eyes, but it still existed and I'll always hate that part."

"Mm." Rocket didn't see the point in agreeing verbally. He was pretty sure Gavaar knew that they would both hate that part forever, even if it was for differing reasons. "Gavaar?"

The Aakonian looked at him out of his mismatched eyes. "Yeah?"

"Did you really ask that blue fuck to send things for me?"

"I had to. Everything got ordered through him."

"Like food and medicine?" Shaking his head as his creator looked away from him, Rocket said, "Did you tell him I needed more?"

"He didn't believe me. He thought you didn't need as much because you were so small. It didn't matter how many times I told him you had a fast metabolism, he thought he knew best. Then he started punishing me for asking."

"What the hell could he do to you? You were a world away."

"He couldn't do anything, but I could." His creator curled his fingers inward and looked at the floor. "I kept trying, but it got to the point he threatened to let somebody else finish you. I didn't want that, so I gave up. I'm sorry."

_"That's_ why I had to go through surgeries with no anaesthesia. Not 'cause you wanted me to be tough, but 'cause he wouldn't give you more. God." Rocket rubbed his forehead. "You idiot. Why didn't you tell me you tried?"

"Trying isn't any good if nothing comes of it."

"Trying means you gave a damn."

"You still went without a lot of necessities because I couldn't get them for you."

"Yeah, I know that, but you could've told me you were trying for me. Although, you were an asshole for going ahead with the surgeries when you _knew_ I'd feel everything you did." It would never change what had happened, could never make him feel any warmer to the man for doing it with the knowledge he would cause suffering, but there was a difference in choosing to cause suffering and not choosing to cause suffering. There hadn't been a choice, not even for Gavaar, when it came to those surgeries. One way or another, they would have been done. Had Kylam pulled Gavaar off the project, the next technician could well have been worse. "Didn't it scare you, asking him for stuff?"

"Had to try," his creator said, which wasn't an answer, but also was. "You were my responsibility." 

_'Not any more,'_ Rocket thought. Red light spilled out on the floor before him, a shadow perfectly squared by the cage he was leaning against. He got up, eyeing the door. The setting sun turned the filthy surfaces bright with reds and oranges. Soon it was going to be dark in Room 56 and he didn't want to be around when it was.

He wanted to be outside. 

Looking at the Aakonian, he asked; "Will you go outside with me? Look at the sky for a while."

"I can't do that. It's nearly dark outside."

Rocket knew that. In less than a half hour, the first stars would appear. Not something an astrophobe would appreciate seeing, which was why Gavaar didn't want to venture out of the building. "You know I don't want to leave you here for-"

_"Rocket."_ It was the first time his creator had said his name. His voice softened when he repeated it, maybe realising he'd spoken too sharply before. "Rocket, I can't look at a night sky."

"You tried for me before." Rocket pointed out. "It didn't always work, but you tried. I really need you to try now." He started walking to the door, unsurprised when Gavaar moved around to give him space. "I'll be by the front entrance."

* * *

In twenty minutes, the skies turned burnt orange, dark crimson and then a thin band of hot pink had appeared over the horizon of the sea before dimming to black. The cold had come with the darkness and then the artificial lights in the laboratory had alerted him to someone moving inside. The door opened and shut and he jumped when something landed beside him with a soft thump. It was a blanket, old and faded from what had once been a greenish colour, but it was warm and blocked out the icy stillness of Halfworld's night. Wrapping it around his shoulders, he looked to his right. His creator's blanket was over his head, probably obscuring his vision. He reached out and pulled on it. "Gax."

With reluctance, the Aakonian lifted it up, though he squeezed his eyes shut and knelt on the worn concrete. He opened his left eye - the bad one - and let it look up for a microsecond before closing it again. 

It was a start, at least. And it was for him. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocket succeeds in something he thought would be impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fast-forward was regrettably necessary. Sorry! But I'm impatient to reunite Rocket and Drax and he's more or less visited most of his key issues with his creator. Not long now until the reunions!

"You're doing pretty good now." Rocket shifted his blanket around his shoulders and glanced his creator's way. "At least you can _look_ at the stars now." Even if it was with his damaged eye.

"I'm still not going on a spaceship."

Rocket had expected as much. He'd been told that every night since the stargazing had started, but he was sure that once Gax saw Kylam, he would want to leave the planet immediately. Hiding a yawn behind his hand, he tried to keep it quiet, but he could see Gax's head turn slightly. He turned his own to glare at him. "What?"

"I saw that."

"You can't see the goddamn moon because you won't look at it, but you saw me yawn?"

Gax looked at him, the left eye still shut. "Please tell me you've napped, at least, in the past six days."

"Mind your own goddamn business."

"When you guilt-tripped me into this-" Gax pointed at the starry skies. "-skywatching bullshit, I didn't tell _you_ to mind your own goddamn business."

"You have more to feel guilty about than I do!"

"Alright, alright." Clearly aware he was going about it the wrong way, his creator stopped griping at him and looked away. "What would help you feel relaxed enough to sleep here?"

"Are you gonna laugh at me if I tell you?"

"No."

"Do you know what music is?"

Gax made a noise like a laugh, but it wasn't at him. At least Rocket didn't think it was. "Kylam didn't shelter us from everything. Yes, I know what music is. Why?"

"Did Jacobs ever tell you how great Terran music is?"

Gax stood up, folding his blanket over his arm. "I'll be right back. Do you mind coming back in? It's getting too cold out here."

"Okay, but we're doing this again tomorrow night." Rocket wasn't too upset at coming back inside. It was considerably warmer than the cold night air and he deposited his blanket on the floor, sitting on it with his back against the wall. Holding the blaster on his lap, he checked its wiring, considering whether it would be better to use its technology to make something new or to find a way to power it back up. Something slid against the floor and caused his blanket to bunch up by his knee. It was square in shape and made of wood and metal. A black circle was held in place by a needle and he looked at his creator, confused. "What in hell's this?"

"Jacobs' record player."

"A record player?" He had some memory of Quill talking about his grandfather owning one, but that had to have been decades ago. "Aren't they really old? What if it doesn't work?"

"This was one of the last portable ones they made, so Hank said. It's around forty years old and he took good care of it. It worked pretty well seven years ago. Push the black switch, see what happens."

Out of curiosity, Rocket pushed the switch. A red square light flicked on underneath it and the black circle began spinning. Out of a circle of tiny holes came music. 

_Darlin' you got to let me know_  
_Should I stay or should I go?_  
_If you say that you are mine_  
_I'll be here 'til the end of time..._

"Did he have any other records?"

"Yeah, here." Gax slid over three squares made out of light cardboard. "I don't know the musicians any more and I never learned to read Terran, so I can't tell you what you'll end up listening to."

"Quill taught me some." Rocket looked at the sleeves. Inside were more of the light vinyl records, he could just about feel them. "Is this all he's got?"

"Whatever happened to gratitude?"

"It went to hell along with your parents."

"Oh my _god."_ The Aakonian muttered. "You turn into an asshole when you're tired."

"Yeah, well, what's your excuse?" Rocket asked as he looked over the backs of the sleeves. He slid out the disc already in place on the player and replaced it with the ABBA one, placing the needle in the middle of the black circle. It span, faster and faster and took a few moments to start playing again. 

_I've seen you twice, in a short time_  
_Only a week since we started_  
_It seems to me, for every time_  
_I'm getting more open-hearted..._

"Do you feel better now?" 

"A little." Rocket stretched a leg out, getting rid of a cramp. "So, how come _you_ got music when you were a kid and I didn't?"

“I thought you’d get distracted.”

Rocket snorted. “Joke’s on you. I do better work with music on.” As if on cue, the player stopped abruptly, the disc still spinning. He shook his head. Even Quill's 30-year-old Walkman had lasted better than the goddamn record player had.

“Does that mean the landmines you made aren’t any good?”

“Why don’t you go step on one and find out?” Rocket snapped. Folding his arms, he glared up at his creator. “I’ll have you know,” he said coldly; “I had the best pyrotechnician in the galaxy teach me to make explosives. Don’t be so fucking rude.”

The Aakonian had the courtesy to look a bit ashamed of himself. Not much, but enough to pacify Rocket. He rubbed behind the shell of his ear and met his eyes. “Is this guy your dad?”

“She’s not a guy.” Rocket said, but the thought of Lylla thawed him. “So, no, she’s not my dad. But she’s like a mom.” Drawing his leg back, he asked; “Didn’t you ever think about what happened to the Uplift who blew up that lab?”

“That’s who taught you about explosives?” When Rocket confirmed with a nod, his creator folded his arms over his chest. “If you’re worried about her, don’t be. Kylam doesn’t use girls. She’ll be safe from him.”

“It’ll be _his_ problem if he tries getting her.” Rocket almost smiled, thinking of Lylla with all the weapons she surrounded herself with. “No girls, huh? Why not?”

“He had a daughter. As far as I know, he never got around to having a son, so my guess is he couldn’t bring himself to hurt a little girl.” Gax didn’t say it, but Rocket could almost hear him thinking; _‘But hurting little_ boys _was just fine.’_

“What did Kylam do to you?” When his creator looked sharply in his direction, Rocket explained his question further. “He said you took fifteen days to stop fighting him. Why did you stop?”

His creator looked away from him. “He got into my head.”

“How’d you get him out?”

Gax shrugged. “In the end, there just wasn’t enough room for the both of you.”

Rocket crossed his legs, sitting back a little. “You still put him first for eleven months.”

His creator sighed and dropped to a crouch. It felt weird being almost eye-to-eye with him, even if it was across a corridor. It was the closest Rocket had voluntarily been to him since he’d crashlanded on Halfworld. “I had to. Not because I was loyal, but because he terrified me. He was the only thing, aside from space, that scared me for years. And then you were born and it scared me that I was willing to hand you over to him. Then it scared me to hand you over.”

“You got nothin’ to be scared of now, do you? I met the bastard.”

“No, it scares me that he might come before your friends do. If he does, there’ll be no escape.”

“It’ll be okay. I’ve escaped plenty worse than him.”

Gax looked at him, directly into his eyes. “There is nothing worse than him.”

“So why wait for him?”

“Wait for him?” Gax’s mismatched eyes narrowed at him. “You don’t think I know you’re doing everything you can to get me in space?”

Rocket shrugged. “I guessed you’d figure it out when you got there.”

His creator breathed out a laugh. “I raised you from a newborn. I know your faces when you’re plotting something. You either look focused or…innocent.”

“I might’ve changed in the past seven years, you know.”

“You have, but your tells haven’t.”

Rocket drew up his legs and rested his elbows on them. “So why’d you go along with it if you knew?”

“You asked me to try. So I’m trying.” Gax looked at the player with its spinning disc. He reached forward and tapped it, jolting it into working again. As the music started again, he sat back against the wall, crossing his legs. He saw Rocket's face and looked down. "Don't tell Hank I did that when you see him. He treated the player like a delicate old lady."

Rocket watched the spinning disc. It was almost hypnotising, how it spun in its rapid circle.

 _So I wanna know_  
What’s the name of the game?  
Does it mean anything to you?

Quill’s grandmother had liked this band. They were a group from a place called Europe, but Rocket struggled to remember the band’s name and the letters were so faded on the sleeve it was impossible to read. “You never got to visit _your_ mom’s grave, did you?”

“She would’ve been cremated.” Gax said. “But, no, I haven’t seen where they placed her ashes. For all I know, they got thrown in the garbage, with the rest of my family’s ashes.”

Rocket looked away from him. “If you knew your sister was alive, would you still want to stay here?”

“Probably not. But she’s gone, like the rest of them.”

Would his creator believe him? Maybe not, but it was worth a try. No amount of begging or stargazing would change the man’s mind, but maybe the love he had for his sister would motivate him into leaving Halfworld. Maybe. He closed his eyes and said; “Akhila’s not dead, Gax.”

His creator’s head turned to face him. It was clear he hadn’t heard his sister’s name in years. “Where did you learn her name?”

“After they got my health monitor out and realised who you were. They told me you had one living relative, your sister.”

“I was told that a fighter pulled Akhila out of the closet and shot her in the head.”

Rocket sat forward a little. “Well, now you know that was a lie.” There was still doubt in the Aakonian’s eyes, so he tried again. “My family saw her on a call. She’s got blue eyes, looks like you but prettier. She’s a mom now. Got a kid my age and two more on the way. Married a guy.”

Gax blinked. “She got pregnant at _sixteen?”_

Rocket crossed his arms and stared into his eyes. “Because that’s worse than what _you_ were doing when you were sixteen?”

Gax turned his face away. “I see your point.” He rubbed under his jawbone. “I missed out on a lot.” He sighed out, sounding tired. “I never would’ve sent the dogs to Oorg if I’d known she was alive. I only agreed to train them against my people because I thought everyone I loved was dead. Do you think she’ll be mad with me?”

“I think she’ll get over it when she sees you.” Getting up, Rocket pulled the needle off the record, stopping the music. Lifting it from the floor, he looked at his creator. “I’m never going to see my sister again. I can’t even visit her grave, ‘cause you had her incinerated. Sure I got some of her organs, but that’s not the same. I’d give anything to see my sister, but it’s impossible. It’s not impossible for you. You’re always gonna be Akhila’s brother and she needs you.”

“Does she?”

“Yeah.” Rocket said, trying to sound certain. In truth, he wasn’t entirely sure. There was love there, but need? He didn’t know if Akhila really needed Gax or not, but it was worth a try. “You’re some of the last family she’s got. She thought she’d lost you twice already. Are you really gonna make her lose you a third time?”

“No.” Gax lowered his eyes and mumbled; “I’ll go on the fucking ship.”

Stunned, unsure if he had heard him correctly, Rocket nodded his head. “Good. Okay. Um…I’m going back to the room. I’m taking this thing with me, if you don’t mind.”

“Rocket, promise me she’s really alive.”

Shifting the player in his arms, Rocket said; “I promise.” He just couldn’t promise that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, this chapter was started on the 11th of July...Where did the month go?


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylam prepares his slaves. Aleta and Stakar talk extractions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I named three of Gax's slave-brothers, aka the dudes Kylam is sending to get him. 
> 
> Klen: A Tribbitite from Tribbit. Marvel wiki says they're toadlike and orange. My guy here has scaly skin in a lovely shade of deep sunset orange. His eyes look toadlike and he's ripped. Like, ridiculously ripped. He's not an intentional asshole, but he does put his master's wishes above everything and has zero morals if it means making Kylam happy.
> 
> Ula: The Kylorian we were introduced to a little while back. Got pink skin and purple eyes. Lean, but hella strong. Very much an intentional asshole because he's considered a weaker species and feels the need to prove himself. Has zero morals because he doesn't give a damn about anyone, least of all his brothers.
> 
> Wylis - A Moloid, the species of which hail from Earth according to the Marvel Comics wiki. In this fic they hail from Jupiter because let's face it, anything could be under that thick layer of gas and it's a fucking enormous planet. Yellow-skinned and bald, but has all-white, almost luminous eyes (apparently your average Moloid can straight-up see in the dark). He's a nice guy and the only one of Gax's slave-brothers he considered a brother rather than friend/acquaintance/nemesis.
> 
> Don't worry, these guys won't be around for long. The three of them have two chapters together (counting this one), so don't panic about remembering names.
> 
> Now that's all over, enjoy!

**SPACE**   
_The Darkwing_   
_Three Days From Halfworld_

In silence, the three gladiators watched their owner. His brows were furrowed and he had removed his helm – a rarity – so his black-blue hair cascaded over his shoulders. There was no doubt in their minds that their master was very, very stressed. They just hoped he wouldn’t choose to take it out on them.

Finally, he looked at them, his eyes moving from left to right. Once he had taken in the sight of his slaves, he seemed less tense than he had before. “There are Ravagers in our territory.”

They glanced to each other curiously. Why did this bother Master so much? Ravagers were violent, true, but they were also disorganised and easily bought. Each of them had fought against worse.

“I don’t believe you would remember. You were young boys when they stopped stealing people.”

Now they were intrigued. One edged forward, wanting to hear a story, then remembered himself and stepped back hurriedly.

His master had noticed. He didn’t rage at his slave for stepping out of formation. Instead, he started talking. “Thirty years ago, Ravagers used to steal people away from their masters. They claimed to wish to return lost children to their families, but tell me, do your families want you?”

None of the gladiators could remember their families. They had either been bought or won. They quietly muttered the reply their master expected.

“No. They do not. They couldn’t afford you or you weren’t wanted or they are all deceased and there is no one left for you. These are all things the Ravagers knew about the boys and girls they took from their owners, but they stole them regardless. Took them from a master who cared for them, from their siblings in bondage, to a world that never cared for them, to a family that never was. They stopped this practise three decades ago and never flew this far into Kree territory since, and I thought that was an end to it.”

“Are they after us, Master?” Klen, one of his four Tribbitite fighters, asked of him. He was keen, eager to please, and had been granted the right to speak without needing permission within the first month his master had owned him. His desire to please meant loyalty and to the warlord who owned him, nothing was more important than loyalty.

“No.” The Kree was looking stressed again. His fingers were twitching, resisting the urge to twist his hair around his fingers – an action unbecoming of a warlord – and he clenched his hands into fists. “No, I believe they’re looking for your brother.” He knew they had questions and he let them come. They were the ones he was sending to collect their brother, after all, and if they failed due to him not giving them adequate information, he would never live it down. "Ask what you must. I know you have questions."

Ula, his only Kylorian, raised his fingertips, meekly, to show he had a question. “Why do you believe that, Master?”

“Because they are following a path that leads to your destination. There is not much left on Halfworld that can be used to communicate, but that Uplift is highly intelligent. If there is anything, it will have found it by now.”

“What if Fifteen killed the weapon?” Klen asked.

“I would be very surprised if he has killed it. He refused to kill it when I ordered him to. But since that time, he was blinded and left for dead by the weapon.” The warlord rolled his enormous shoulders in a shrug. “Perhaps it is dead, perhaps it isn’t.” He would have another made if the original weapon was dead.

“What should we do when we get to the planet, Master?”

The Kree knew what his slave meant _. ‘What should we do if we get there before the Ravager scum?’_ was the real question. He sighed. In spite of Fifteen’s wrongs, he had been hoping to avoid this, not least because of the inconvenience of relocating, but because he knew it would terrify the Aakonian into insanity and he needed a relatively sane technician. “When you arrive, whether it’s before or after the Ravagers, get Fifteen on the ship by whichever means necessary.”

They looked at him exactly as he’d expected them to. Disbelief. They remembered their brother’s incurable space phobia as well as their master did.

“Master,” Wylis, the last of his Moloids, said in a quiet tone. “Fifteen is astrophobic. _Badly_ astrophobic.” With his skin, several shades duller than his Aakonian slave-brother, the flesh on his bones equally hairless, Wylis had always resembled Fifteen, if his white eyes were to be ignored. Not only that, but Wylis hadn't seen anyone so similar to him before the Aakonian had come along, and Fifteen had wanted, maybe even needed, someone familiar. His slaves all put up with each other - they had to, or feel the lash - but Wylis and Fifteen had always favoured each other. 

That was why Wylis had to be sent to collect his brother.

“I know.” For eight years, they had tried everything they could think of. For a full year, the warlord had given him a choice – his wrath or the night sky. Each time, instantaneously, the boy had chosen his wrath. The fear of space far outweighed his fear of his master and the Kree wasn’t able to place the blame on his slave. It had been a mistake to throw out those children before the eyes of the only one he’d planned to keep. Still, there were ways to calm his terror. “There are tranquilisers on the starship. Use those if he will not yield, but I would prefer they weren’t used.” He didn’t enjoy drugging people. He preferred them aware, knowing of his presence.

“Will there be many Ravagers, Master?”

“There are usually around ten Ravagers sent out to collect. They will be led by an Arcturan couple known collectively as Starhawk.” The Kree couldn’t keep the contempt out of his voice. They had been called that for their apparent ability to see any slaver ship in Kree territory, just as a hawk sees its prey. “I know you will kill the Ravagers easily enough, but if you were to bring me even just one of their heads, I would reward the three of you _very_ handsomely.”

“Which do you want the most?” Klen asked

“Your brother, alive and unspoiled. Starhawk’s decapitated heads would simply be a bonus for you.” He liked the use of rewards. Coupled with the threat of horrific torture, they made for good negotiating tools. He knew what each slave before him wanted for a reward already. He also knew what kind of torture they would die to avoid and was holding it over their heads so they wouldn’t dare to fail him. “Whether you bring me their heads or not, I will show my gratitude.”

They stood a bit straighter. Earning their master’s gratitude when they had been expected to show their gratitude to him for all of their lives was a great deal. “We only want to please you, Master.”

The Kree reached out a hand to the one who had spoken. His boy flinched, expecting to be struck, but calmed when Kylam’s blue palm touched his cheek. “I know you do,” he said, brushing his thumb over his slave’s cheekbone. Affection was as effective a weapon as violence, he’d found. “Why do you wish to please me?”

“Because we love you, Master. All of us.”

“Hmm. Not quite all.”

“Fifteen just lost his way. We’ll help him find it again.”

Kylam let the flicker of a smile show. “You understand that I treat you better than any other master treats his slaves?”

“Yes, Master.”

“And you know why I do that, don’t you?”

“Because you love us.”

“That’s right. Even when I am wronged by one of you, I always forgive. I will even forgive your brother for all he did.” Looking into the golden eyes of the slave before him, he said; “You will tell Fifteen this.”

“Of course, Master.”

That pleased the warlord. He could see jealousy in the eyes of the other two slaves because their brother was getting affection and they weren’t, so he released his touch and reached out his hands for theirs. Now it was their brother’s turn to look jealous and he did, but Kylam ignored him. It did no good to favouritise. “I have already lost one of your brothers recently. I would not like to lose another four slaves. The starship is set, coordinates are logged. All that is needed now is for you to board. I hope to see you again soon.”

* * *

**SPACE**   
_The Jotarasitahn_   
  


For as long as Stakar had known her, Aleta had an awful habit of chewing on things when she was anxious. Her fingernails, the ends of her hair, the inside of her cheeks, anything. Right now, it was the stem of _his_ pipe and he was starting to become anxious for its wellbeing. Silently, he reached over and plucked it out of her fingers. “Come on, spit it out. What’s the matter with you?”

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Aleta finally asked, after several minutes. “You haven’t done a rescue in thirty years and…well, _look_ at you. You’re not a young man anymore.”

“Oh, god, woman.” Stakar examined the stem of the pipe and noticed some tiny teethmarks. Great. This is what he got for sharing things with his wife. “Seriously, you’re concerned about _my_ age? You’re older than I am!”

“Yeah, well, women grow tougher with age!”

“Oh, sure they do. Come on.” Looping his arm over her shoulders, he brought their heads closer together. “Okay, I haven’t done a rescue in thirty years. But we had twenty years of rescues _before_ then. I haven’t forgotten any of them.” To prove it, he started listing them off. “Martinex was our first one. He wasn’t deliberately rescued, but it happened anyways. Then there was Charlie-27, who ended up saving us…”

Aleta started laughing. “I remember. Okay, I believe you haven’t forgotten anyone.”

“Glad to hear it.” Letting his arm drop to encircle her waist, he relished the closeness he’d been missing for so many years. “You know Kylam won’t let this one go as easily as the other boys of his, right?”

“I don’t really give a fuck.”

“Me neither, but if we end up having a space battle with an astrophobe onboard…”

“Yeah, that could be a problem. But we’ve had astrophobic kids on this ship before.” She looked at him, out of the corner of her eyes. God, he loved her eyes. They were as dark as the void of space itself, but once he looked into them, he could see sombre shades of bronze and amber, glimmering when the light hit them. “The good news,” she said, “is he isn’t in a hurry to go back to Kylam. He wants to see his big sister again. That’s helpful.”

“Mm." Stakar released his hold before she could accuse him of being affectionate (the horror) and folded his arms. "So when was your last rescue?"

Aleta's eyes hardened, but he could see the sadness beneath the exterior she'd put up. "My last attempted rescue was a year ago. My last successful one was two years ago."

She wouldn't appreciate it if he apologised, again, for not being there. Aleta didn't like repetition and never had, so he just nodded. "What happened on your last attempt?"

"He didn't want to be saved." Aleta's eyes thawed and she sighed, pushing back some of her hair so it stuck behind her ears. "He was scared. Scared of his mistress thinking he was disloyal, so he took a blade to his own throat than risk being parted from her."

"At least we don't have that problem with our target."

She tilted her head and then shrugged. "I guess not."

"What about your last successful rescue?"

"We got to reunite him with his mother. He calls us every couple of months to let us know how his life's going." Aleta smiled and it was clear how much those calls meant to her. "It's good. Things like that make the rescues worthwhile, even when we fail."

"We're not going to fail this one." Interlinking their fingers, he gazed into her eyes. "I swear."

Aleta looked at their joined hands and shook her head. "I hope not," she said. "I could really use a win."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kylam sure is fun to write. He's a bastard, but he's not the typical "treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen" master who rules through fear alone. In some ways that makes him a lot worse because he uses affection as a weapon.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocket is reunited with his family. Gakhsi is reunited with his brothers.

**SPACE**  
1,000km from world surface

To Peter’s eyes, Halfworld was just like any other planet. It was a dull, ruddy colour, only notable due to the fact that it was like two semicircles that had been banded together, in clashing colours of dark peach and grey-green. Rocket should never have been born there. He should’ve been born under the blue skies of Earth, seen equally blue waters, known the beauty of his real homeworld. Maybe he should talk more about Earth with Rocket. Just ‘cause _he_ had issues with Earth, it didn’t mean Rocket had to have issues with it too.  
They were close enough to see wispy, thin clouds of scarlet stretching over the skies curving over the abandoned world. They were just far enough out of orbit that the planet wasn’t taking the Jotarasitahn with it as it rotated through its usual routine. Peter let himself look at the clean line of land cutting into the planet’s ocean 1,000 kilometres down and then turned away from it.

It was time to go.

* * *

**HALFWORLD**

The starship had descended with silent engines. It had guided itself to the old landing stations located 400 yards from the facility. It was Kree in origin, ordinarily used for transporting the gladiators to where they would be competing. In the eight years on Hala, Gakhsi had seen scores of them rise in the sky, taking his slave-brothers to either death or glory. So. Kylam had sent over some of them. But why? There was only one of him…though his Uplift was with him. But, really, why his _brothers?_ Kylam wasn’t the type to shy away from those he was angry with. He was even less the type to send others to do his dirty work. In fact, as far as Gakhsi knew, he relished the opportunity to do it himself.

Stepping closer to the door, he looked through the window. They were going to enter through the landing zone’s doorway. Far away enough that he could find Rocket and warn him of their new company…his good eye picked up on something and he narrowed its eyelids to focus. His brothers – he couldn’t easily recognise them at this distance – were distributing something amongst themselves. Something that flashed silver in the suns’ early light. Drugs? But why did Kylam send those?

Unless it was an extraction.

Il-Sahn had told him about Ravagers who had stolen _his_ slave-brothers, even a lover he’d found solace with in the ring. Kylam’s stories of them were even worse, that they took slaves from masters who cared and then returned them to uncaring governments and loveless families. If Kylam had found out about Ravagers being in Kree territory, there was no chance of him risking either his weapon or the slave who could make more.

“Typical,” he muttered. “I spend nearly ten years on this fucking planet by myself and then a bunch of people decide they want to take me off it.” As if on cue, there was the quiet roar of a larger ship’s engines and he sighed, turning away from the window, making his way to the front entrance.

“Gax, they’re here!” Rocket came to him, but stood a distance. Aside from the night he’d listened to Jacobs’ player, he had refused to come any closer than five feet away. He frowned, looking at his face. “What’s the matter with you? You look freaked out.”

_‘Kylam sent out three of his best fighters to take me, and you, away from here. And those fighters can take down at least five fighters, armed or not, as if they’re_ nothing.’ Gakhsi thought. He wanted to say it, knew it would be safer for the Uplift if he knew of all the dangers he was now in, but in his head, an idea was growing. If he could just keep his slave-brothers away from his Uplift. If he could convince them it was only him on this planet. If he could just get a promise from his Uplift. Because he was absolutely not risking Rocket’s freedom again. “Astrophobia. It’s a bitch.”

“But your sister’s not – probably – so just keep thinkin’ of her.”

As his Uplift turned to go on ahead, Gakhsi said; “Wait.” He could see a kind of desperation in the Uplift’s eyes, undoubtedly anxious to see his dad again. He wouldn’t keep him much longer. “Before we go out of this building, I need you to promise me something.”

“Depends what it is.”

“Promise me if…if anyone comes, you’ll leave this planet, even if it means leaving me behind.”

“But, your bounty-“

“Fuck my bounty. Your life has greater value than mine.”

Rocket rolled his eyes. “Fine. But it’s a wasted promise, ‘cause nobody’s here yet. You comin’ or do I have to send my family in here to drag you out?”

“I don’t think it’d do my reputation any good to hurt one of your friends the day I meet them.” Gakhsi could hear his own pulse drumming in his ears and hoped he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. “I’ll be out in a minute. I spent seven years here, I want to say goodbye to it.”

“You’re fuckin’ _weird,”_ his Uplift muttered, but he didn’t argue, and wandered away, his little toe-claws rasping against the tiles beneath his feet.

Gakhsi didn’t reply. He was walking the opposite direction in order to meet his slave-brothers.

He could hear their voices and flickers of images came to mind. Pink skin. Webbed fingers. White eyes. It wasn’t until he got to the doorway and saw them that their names slowly came back to his memory. All but one of the three were some of the worst assholes he’d ever had the misfortune to know. Even better. He waited for them to notice him. It took less than ten seconds.

Not that he was counting.

“Fifteen!”

It would be a lot easier for them if he went to them. But he had no intention of doing that so he stayed where he was, eyes on them. They came toward him and despite every instinct he had, he didn’t so much as step back until they were ten feet away.

Wylis, the only good one, reached out a hand, the colour of his skin a dull yellow. “Come on. Let’s get home.”

“Where’s the weapon?” Una asked.

“I killed it.” Gakhsi said. “Got hungry.”

They all looked surprised, but didn’t question it. Wylis extended his hand. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s go now.”

Wylis was his favourite brother for a reason, but he wouldn’t risk their master’s wrath, not even for him. Gakhsi thought of the building’s layout, mapping out a route in his head. Then he breathed out. “No. I’m not going back to him.”

“Don’t make this hard.” Klen bit out. “You’re lucky to be breathing.”

Gakhsi had heard that before. In a way, Klen was right. He was lucky…the only thing was that his luck was bad. “The only way you’re getting me off this planet is if I’m not breathing,” he said and then he turned before his words had registered. He could hear them cursing and calling his number out, then heard footsteps. They were fast, but he was faster. Passing abandoned trolleys and chairs, he knocked them over to impede his brothers and when he heard the thump of someone crashing to the ground, he laughed and kept sprinting through the facility, sure that his Uplift would be long gone by the time he was caught.

* * *

At first, Rocket didn’t know where everyone was. He knew it was a Ravager craft, a small comfort that at least they’d arrived before the nasty blue fuck who’d sent him back to Halfworld, but couldn’t see any of the Ravagers.

“I am Groot!” _‘Dad!’_

Not seeing his son coming, Rocket had to brace himself for impact as a blur of wood and trailing leaves slammed into him. Breathless, but happy, he wrapped his arms around Groot’s back, noting he’d grown at least another inch since he’d been gone. “Boy, am I glad to…” He paused and looked up, finally noting the taller people in their leathers. His eyes picked out the jackass he called a captain and he narrowed them. _“You brought him down here?!”_

“I didn’t know he was onboard!”

“God-fucking-damn you, Pete…” Scowling down at the giggling Flora Colossus, he added; “I don’t know what _you’re_ laughing about. How many times do I gotta tell you not to sneak onto ships, huh? Remember that time we lost you?”

Groot just looked at him out of round brown eyes and said, very sweetly. “I am Groot.” _‘I missed you, Daddy.’_

“Don’t get cute.” But there was no real bite in his words. He couldn’t be mad after so long apart. “Go back on the ship. I’m not gonna be long.”

A woman walked up, eyes smudged with black. Her leathers were dark green and he recognised her from a call made months ago. “You remember me?”

“Aleta.” God, she was even shorter than she’d looked in the call. Not that he was dumb enough to tell her. “We’re going soon, right?”

“Yeah, we’re not sticking around. Where’s my target?”

_“Our_ target.” Stakar called out from several yards behind her.

She rolled her eyes and then looked toward the building. “He’s hiding,” she said, with certainty. “Okay. We’ll go in to find him, but we’ll need to leave some Ravagers out here in case we have company.”

“Before anyone goes near the doors, you remember the marks we set out for the landmines, don’t you?” Rocket asked. “I’d prefer it if the blue prick got blown up than one of you guys.”

“White stones.” Stakar said. “We’ll be careful. Do you want to wait out here?”

He was being offered an out. But he could show them where to find his creator, so he shook his head. “No. I’m fine. Trust that jerk to pick now to play a game of goddamn hide and seek.”

* * *

Coming to a halt, Una stopped the other two in their tracks. “I’ve had enough. If I have to chase that little fucker anymore times, I’m going to throw a knife into his skull!”

“What are we meant to fuckin’ do? We have to get him or Master will come down here. We sure as hell don’t want that.” Casting an angry glare to the Aakonian who was standing there, watching them at the end of a long corridor, Klen growled. “God. He wasn’t this much of a nuisance when he was eight.”

“Are you tired?” Fifteen called to them. “Do you give up?”

“You’re fucking _dead!”_ Una screamed. He was stopped from charging by Wylis who grabbed the short braid dangling down his neck. “Get off me!”

“If you kill him, we’ll get in trouble, so calm down.” Wylis snapped. “Look, I can hear people. One of us needs to go to deal with them and it’ll have to be me because I can’t run as fast. Don’t kill Fifteen.”

“Let go of my hair first, noodledick.”

Yanking on it, Wylis released his hair. “If I find you’ve killed him, I am not taking any heat for the two of you. Got it?”

Glowering, Una and Klen nodded. As the Moloid left, they stared down the dark corridor. They could see their slave-brother and it maddened them that he was out of reach and, more annoyingly, staying that way. Klen held up his hands, wanting to try a conciliatory tactic. Sometimes it had worked when Fifteen had been younger. “I think we’ve started this all wrong.” When no response came, he continued, encouraged by the silence. “Master sent us here because he knew you’d be afraid if you saw him.” In truth, he knew their master was still angry and hurt over whatever it was Fifteen had done all those years ago. “It’s forgiven now. He wants to forgive you.”

“Forgiveness is expensive.” Fifteen said. “Kylam’s forgiveness is unaffordable to me.”

“Don’t call our master by his name!” Una snapped.

“He’s not my master! He left me here!”

Klen chanced a step forward. “If he’s not your master, that means we’re not your brothers.”

Fifteen glared at the floor, eyes still low after all this time. “Una, didn’t you once tell me I wasn’t?”

“Don’t start this. You knew I didn’t mean it like that.” Una’s hands clenched into fists. “You were refusing something you’d wanted since the day I met you. It was making you unhappy, it was making Master unhappy. I had to give you a push.”

“You said I was nothing to any of our brothers, you included.” Fifteen snapped out. “You were right. Because here you are, right now, trying to drag me on a starship when you know how much I hate space.”

“Fucking…God.” Una snorted through his nose sharply. “Look,” he ground out. “I _may_ have made a very little mistake when I said that stuff. You’re my brother, even when you’re a pain in my ass. The important thing is, when I said that stuff, I had you in mind. I don’t want to hear about it again. And space…we’re not going to do anything to deliberately scare you. We’re not that fuckin’ mean.”

Fifteen looked doubtful. Very doubtful. But the important thing was, he wasn’t arguing.

“Remember those nice drugs you had when you came here?” Klen asked him. When he was asked how he knew about those, he snorted. “Master told us. He made sure we had plenty for you.”

“He did?”

“Like I told you, he’s forgiven what happened. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have made sure you had drugs for your space anxiety.”

“He’s never forgiven anybody so quickly before.”

Una huffed. “Count yourself lucky.”

Klen, knowing Fifteen was that much closer to cracking, tried one final thing. “Nobody has to know about the chase you led us on. And we won’t be mad about it if you help us out and take a pill so you won’t be scared of going on the ship.” To prove he had the drugs, he took out the little silver tube from his pocket and held it out, noticing the recognition in his brother’s eyes. “You can keep this. All you have to do is keep still and stop running from us.”

Una sighed when Fifteen looked at him. “I won’t be mad either, if it means you’ll stop making me chase you.”

Klen walked forward, relieved when the Aakonian kept in one place. His kind weren’t built for running for as long as he had. “Here you go,” he said, passing the tube. “It’s got a timer so you won’t take two a day by accident. Each tube lasts for seven days.”

“I’m not stupid enough to overdose.” Fifteen muttered as he took the first pill. His eyes looked different. One was greener and didn’t look as…stabbed as his brothers had expected. Sliding the tube into his own pocket, he asked; “Where’s Wylis?”

“There’s Ravagers here. He’s gone to kill them.”

Fifteen froze. “They’re _here?”_

“Yeah, but don’t worry. They won’t steal you, okay? Let’s go to the ship now-“

Instead, their brother turned on his heel and ran, to their chagrin. “Goddammit,” Una snarled. “What kinda help does he think he’s going to provide?”

“Rocket!”

Klen frowned. “Why’s he going on about a rocket? He must know we’re going on a starship.”

Una shook his head and followed the path Fifteen had taken. “He better not get himself killed or I’m really gonna get pissed off.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The extraction/rescue does not go to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sixteen days in the making and here we have it. At last!

Mantis wasn’t leaving his side. It was both sweet and kinda annoying because he kept bumping against her leg, but he wasn’t about to start complaining at having someone familiar closeby. He looked up, into her face, and saw that she was not happy about being in the facility. Maybe the feelings of the place remained or perhaps it was the lack of cheer in the building. Or maybe she, like him, was cursing Gax’s name for picking now to hide on them. They’d looked in every room they’d passed, but no luck.

“Rock, any reason why you can’t just blow this place up now so we can drag his body out later?”

“Don’t tempt me, Quill.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too quick a death.” Gamora said. She looked like she was going to slice the Aakonian’s head from his shoulders judging by the way her fingers played on Godslayer’s hilt. Then again, beheading was one of the quickest ways to go. Maybe she wanted to remove limbs or stab him a couple hundred times. It was tempting to let her.

_‘Let her kill him, he’s forcing you to stay here looking for him. He wants you to suffer, he knows how much you hate it here. Let her kill him and he’ll never bother you again...’_

Rocket looked from Gamora’s hand to her face. Her eyes moved downward to look into his and she slowed her pace along with him until they were apart from their group of fourteen. “What are you thinking?”

Rocket stopped and looked away from her, down the hallway they had just come from. “I don’t wanna stay any longer.”

Gamora didn’t show any signs of judgment. She just nodded and looked down the same hallway. “I know. Do you want me to walk with you back to the-“

_“Ahhhhhh!”_

The group ahead stopped and turned; all eyes narrowed. Aleta stepped forward, hand on her blaster. She hadn’t drawn it yet, but it was clear the screams had unsettled her. “What the hell…?”

_“Captain!”_

Both Ogords’ faces changed from confused to perturbed. In less than a second, both had their weapons drawn out and were charging forward, the other Ravagers not far behind.

Gamora’s face was calm as she started following. “I think we’ve found him.”

Something metallic filled his nose as he kept to her side. Something warm. He only had to look into her face to know she smelled it too. “Someone’s bleedin’.” As it grew stronger, he added; “More than one someone.”

“Would he be stupid enough to challenge six armed Ravagers?”

“Probably.” Rocket muttered. It wouldn’t surprise him if his creator saw the Ravagers as a way out. Chances were, he was going to see Gax’s sliced-up corpse soon, but what else could he have done? He hadn’t _told_ the moron to pick a fight. At least they would still get money out of him.

Gamora stopped. Her mouth pressed together in a green, thin line.

Just behind, Mantis’ knee poked his ear, but Rocket barely noticed. He was too transfixed by the bloodbath before his eyes. As far as he could tell, the Ravagers had been cut open and left to bleed out. Five of the six were gone.

The last one was surrounded by Aleta, Stakar and her remaining crewmembers. There was silence mixed in with the hushed whispers of the two co-captains as they watched her take her final breaths. Smothering quiet fell over the group and then Aleta slammed her gun against the ground so hard that it almost broke. “I’ll kill him,” she hissed. Her eyes were almost crazed, furious over the losses. Her voice sounded coarse and devoid of its previous fire as she repeated herself. “I’ll _fucking_ kill him.”

Rocket’s eyes went to the Ravager closest to them. A gape in his throat showed teal blood, streaking the grass with its colour. _‘You cut his throat open? After what you saw happen to your dad?’_

“Wait a minute,” Quill said, reluctantly. “As much as I hate this guy, I don’t think he has it in him to do this. He’s weak, he’s out of practise, _and_ he’s blind.”

“Who else could it have been, Peter?” Aleta yelled. “Was it Hank Jacobs’ little ones? _We are the only ones here!”_

_‘I pushed him too hard with his goddamn astrophobia and now he’s fuckin’ snapped and killed all these people. Is he coming after me next?’_

Gamora turned her head to look at the person behind them and walked out to join Quill. Of all people, she was arguing Gax’s case. “How do we know we’re the only ones here? For all we know, the Kree may have landed somewhere.”

Mantis moved to Rocket’s left and then edged forward, her eyes on the Ravagers ahead of them. It was clear by her eyes that the sight of them saddened her, rather than scared her.

“Do you see Kree here?” Aleta asked Gamora, her voice full of impatience. “Do you?”

“Why are we defending this asshole?” Kraglin asked, skirting around Mantis to join Quill and Gamora. “Pete, he’s done so much bad shit, why would _this_ be a surprise to you?”

“Did you not see him on that call? He looked like the skeleton we had in my fourth-grade class.”

“What the hell kinda place is Terra that y’all show skeletons to kids…?”

“Enough.” Stakar said. He was still by the last Ravager’s side, his eyes finally leaving her face. “We’re the only ones here. Kree would have noticed us, Kree would have attacked the Jotarasitahn and Kree would not hide away. We would know if it was the Kree.” He gestured at his fallen crew, hands almost trembling at the wrist, but his eyes were steely and cold. “He’s done this. He’s payin’ for it.”

The building was too much. He had to get out, now, how had he lived in it for so long? ‘Get out, get out, get out…’ But he couldn’t face being by himself. Looking around, he found Drax who was looking at the bodies with curiosity in his eyes. Seemed he wasn’t sure of Gax’s murdering capabilities either. “Drax.”

For the first time in weeks, they looked at each other. “Yes?”

Rocket’s throat was dry. “Please stay with me. Please.”

Drax moved closer to the doorway, calming despite the terror. "Of course. I won't let him near you."

 _‘Where is he?’_ Rocket walked forward, hesitantly, his eyes moved past the remaining Ravagers, his family…then he saw a blur of yellow in the distance. “I see him.”

Both Ogords turned and he didn’t need to see their faces to picture Aleta’s scowl or the dark look in Stakar’s eyes. Aleta’s teeth were gritted as she spat out an order to the Ravagers. "Find him! He will suffer for our losses. Our ship will be painted inside and out with his blood!"

Rocket didn’t know if he could cope with the scent of his creator’s blood. The reminder of him would be everywhere, it would be enveloping. He backed away, bumping into a leg and someone put down a hand to steady him. Quill’s hand. For a second, he wanted to grab it, not let it go until they were far away from Halfworld, from his creator, from Kylam. Forget the scent of blood, he didn’t know if he could cope with anything Gax had brought to him. "Pete,” he breathed out with lungs that weren’t his own. “...I can't. I can't..."

"It's alright.” Gamora was clearly answering on Quill’s behalf. She was ready to cut Gax down, almost fidgeting in eagerness to slay him, but all her eyes showed him was understanding. "Go. It will be safer for you and you won't have to see Gavaar."

A hand reached out. "Come on, puppy. We need to go back to the mothership."

God, that nickname. That stupid, annoying fucking nickname he’d die before admitting he’d missed. Not because he liked it. Because it was normalcy. Maybe even because it came from Mantis who’d always liked him based on his appearance rather than liking him despite it. He wanted to go, but if Gax found out he’d ran… _‘What will he do if he sees me escaping?’_ Rocket looked into the distance. The Ravagers were a far distance, still. “If he finds out…”

“He won’t.” Kraglin said, tracing a finger over the edge of the yaka arrow. He’d been practising, but clearly hadn’t mastered it yet or Gax would’ve been dead long before now. “He’ll be too dead to know.” He pointed at one of the Ravager pods. “Get your ass outta here. While you’re at it, take Mantis with you.”

“I can’t.” Not after two weeks with the thought that he might never see them again.

"Rocket.” Drax sounded utterly calm to the uninitiated. Rocket knew his voice enough to know he was anything but. He’d been given outright permission to murder the Aakonian he hated so much and he wanted to be the one to do it. The look in his eyes alone made Rocket very glad he was on his side. "You can. And Gamora is right - it's much safer for you. Please, both of you, leave. Please."

He’d only heard that level of desperation from Drax before leaving Quill on Ego’s planet. He looked at Mantis, whose hand was still outstretched and took it, his fingers wrapped around hers. He’d already scared the shit out of him once. It wouldn’t be fair to do it again. “You’d all better come back.”

"We will." Kraglin promised. "Now get outta here."

* * *

He was too late to help anyone. The swirls and splatters covering Wylis’ skin told him that. No red, which meant his Uplift’s blood hadn’t been spilled. But other Ravagers weren’t all that far behind, weapons at the ready.

Wylis’ eyes were white and appeared rheumy, but that was a natural coating of watery flesh. His true eyes were a bright silver, roaming under the milky skin covering them. As with all Moloids, he could see things that few other races could see. He could see shadows in the dark. He could pick out signs that others missed. He had vision Gakhsi had envied before he’d gotten himself stabbed in the eyes.

Wylis stopped in his tracks, apparently not bothered by the small army headed his way. “Now isn’t a good time for a catch-up.”

“You’re _dead.”_ Gakhsi could make out the rage and grief on the faces of the Ravagers. They were out for blood. Wylis’ blood.

“Not yet.”

“You don’t have to fight these people.”

“Master wants Starhawk’s heads.” Wylis’ brilliant white eyes locked onto his. “Tell you what. I’ll give you one of their heads to give Master. It’ll please him.”

“Wylis, there’s at least a dozen of them and they’re all armed and extremely pissed. How do you expect to defeat them all?”

“Why d’you think Master sent three of us?”

“Just go. They won’t be able to catch us up in a Kree vessel.”

“Us?” Wylis looked over Gakshi’s shoulder and then at him again. “You’re dosed up I take it. Could’ve had those drugs before you led us on a goddamn chase through the building. Una wanted to kill you for that, you know.”

“That’s nothing new. Una wants to kill everybody.”

Wylis smiled and was about to laugh when it died on his lips. He focused on something far ahead and then looked back at Gakhsi. “You lied. That thing you made…you didn’t kill it. It’s _running,_ Fifteen.”

 _‘He’s keeping his promise._ ’ “I know.”

“God,” Wylis growled as Gakshi took an alarmed step back. “You’re letting that thing go again?”

“I didn’t let him go the first time-“

“Bullshit! I’ve seen you toss around rebellious beta-dogs like they were fresh out their mothers. The only reason that thing damaged you the way it did is ‘cause you let it.” Wylis stepped close, the brightness of his eyes almost hypnotizing. “You can’t fuck this up again, Fifteen. People like us don’t get second chances and you can’t throw this one away just because you got attached to somebody.

“This _is_ my second chance.” Gakhsi said. “And I’m not fucking it up.”

Coldly, Wylis said; “I’m gonna cut through these people like they’re made of nothin’ and then I’m takin’ your little weapon back to our ship. I hope to hell you remember what the finished product was meant to be, ‘cause Master’ll be wantin’ it finished before long.”

“I’m not finishing him, but…if you just go now – with me – I’ll make others, like Master wants. I’ll be better. Just not that one.”

“You’ll co-operate, will you?”

“If you promise to keep my secret, yes.”

Wylis snorted heavily through his nose. “I can’t believe you got me doin’ you favours after that goddamn chase, ya-” Something loud tore apart Wylis’ words. He fell forward, landing heavily on one knee. Grabbing the back of the other, he cursed at the sight of the blood now coursing between his fingers. He looked up and must have seen the horror in Gakhsi’s eyes because he gritted his teeth and, with difficulty, moved his body so he couldn’t see the blood as well. “Don’t freak out. It’s just a little cut, that’s all.”

“They _shot_ you.”

“I never would’ve guessed, would I? Thank fuckin’ God itself you’re here or I would’ve died not knowin’! Find Una and Klen and get offworld with them.”

Gakhsi stared at him. “I can’t just leave you here!”

“Oh, shut up and get outta here!” Wylis snapped. _“Go._ Don’t worry about _me._ I don’t plan on goin’ out easy.” With effort, he stood, using one leg to stand on, but it trembled and let him thud to the ground. He looked up at Gakhsi, silvery eyes roaming under their layer of white. “You can’t help me. There’s no point in those fuckers takin’ us both, is there?”

Gakhsi could see the Ravagers coming closer and stayed where he was. They wouldn’t risk killing him with his bounty, which meant he was the only thing keeping Wylis alive.

* * *

Holding up a hand, Stakar brought their group to a halt. “Wrong guy,” he said in Aleta’s direction. Actually, it wasn’t really the wrong person. The guy Aleta had shot in the back of the knee was the one responsible for the deaths of their crewmembers, no doubt about it. But the killer was a Moloid. The Aakonian they’d been sent for was decidedly in no shape for killing anything that could put up a fight. Loathe as he was to admit it, Peter had been right. The Terran was going to be telling him ‘I told you so’ until the day one of them dropped.

“They look kinda similar.” Aleta defended herself. “Anyway, you’re only jealous because _I_ got that fucker and you didn’t.”

“You always did have an itchy trigger finger.” He kept his weapon by his side, but lowered it. This was a delicate situation. On one hand, they had guns and numbers. On the other, he could see a mark on the Moloid’s shoulder for the Kree’s symbol for the number three. That meant there were at least three gladiators on the planet. Kree battle slaves were trained to be highly efficient killers, only a step below Star Force members in terms of efficiency. Just look at the six they’d lost. He didn’t want a fight against more gladiators. They’d lost enough. His eyes went to the Moloid who was swaying, but held his knives out threateningly. It would almost be admirable if Stakar wasn’t so pissed. Ignoring him – for the time being – he looked at the other yellow-skinned person in their cluster.

So this was the man responsible for entire planets suffering the beasts he’d trained. Close to his slave-brother, he was clearly thinking about leaving with them, or else he’d be struggling, fighting to get away from them.

He wanted to go, did he? Incredible how some carefully chosen words could convince someone to do something which was absolutely not in their best interest.

“Who’s first?” The Moloid demanded. “Which of you wants to try it?” Blood was now pouring from his wounded leg and his face was blanching from pastel yellow to a shade of white. Without medical help he would die. Too bad for him he wasn’t getting any. “You’re after me, not him, aren’t ya?”

Their target spoke. _“Wylis.”_

Stakar felt like cursing. Gakhsi was watching the Moloid like a kid watching his dog die. Just their luck to shoot someone their target actually liked. Still, maybe they could fix things. “Gakhsi.” He wondered when he’d last been called by his own name. Why Kylam hadn’t renamed him properly, like he did with all his other slaves. “If you come with us, we’ll give him a quick death.”

“Go with ‘em and I’ll fuckin’ haunt you,” the Moloid snapped. He clearly wanted to get up, but the damage to his leg wouldn’t allow it. “They want to take you back to Oorg and they won’t give a damn about your…issues. Probably keep you in the airlock for the duration.”

Aleta scowled. “We’re not Kree. We don’t do shit like that.”

The Moloid ignored her. “Even if you make it back there with your sanity and health intact, what’s there gonna be for you? Your sister won’t give a damn, not after your dogs chewed her husband’s arm off.”

Gakhsi’s eyes turned cold. “You knew she was alive?”

The Moloid tightened his mouth, annoyed with himself. “You weren’t doing as you were told. All we did was remove her from the equation and you did your job right. You never would’ve sent those things to Oorg if you’d known she was alive.”

For a second, a look came over Gakhsi’s face that made Stakar realise with true clarity why Rocket had feared him for so long. “I hope your leg gets gangrene and it spreads up to your heart and kills you slowly, you lying cunt.”

“Don’t ever call me a liar.” The Moloid struggled after the Aakonian as he walked past him. “Don’t! Don’t you fucking _dare_ go to them. Fifteen!” For a moment, he was able to stand and grabbed the Aakonian’s forearm. “Listen to me. You have decades ahead of you, decades to live. Lookin’ out for people gets you nowhere at all. Forget your sister and your species. Forget the weapon. They don’t got your life. Only you do.”

“Let go of me, Wylis.”

Instead of doing that, the Moloid twisted his arm until it was a movement away from snapping. “You want Master knowin’ your Uplift ain’t really dead? I’ll tell him. I’ll help him find the little freak, too. It don’t bother me for you to watch that thing you made die. After all, your daddy watched _his_ son die.”

Gakhsi closed his eyes and pressed his palm flat against the Moloid’s face. At first, there was nothing, but then his shoulderblades, crossed with old scars, started flaring, like red flames were flickering under his skin.

The Moloid began shrieking, the sound muffled. His skin started bubbling and he let go of the Aakonian’s arm to claw in desperation at him. It didn’t work. Bone showed in his face as his skin shrivelled and his legs failed as life left his body.

“Oh my god,” Aleta muttered beside him. Stakar wasn’t surprised by the look of horrified fascination on his wife’s face. “He’s fucked.” She blinked and then pulled out her weapon at a new arrival. “Tribbitite.”

“No use in shooting at him. They’re tough bastards. Get your blades out instead.”

The Tribbitite didn’t seem to notice them. Instead, he grabbed the Aakonian, hissing in pain at the heat. “Fifteen, stop this. Stop!”

“Did you know my sister didn’t die?”

“She doesn’t matter!”

 _“She does to me!”_ Letting go of the Moloid’s face, Gakhsi grabbed the Tribbitite’s neck and gripped hard. “She always mattered, dead or alive.”

The Tribbitite’s face turned from dusky orange to peach and when he fell, a crisp piece of flesh remained in the Aakonian’s hand. He dropped it to the ground and looked at an ashen-faced Kylorian. “Leave me.”

The Kylorian backed away, his eyes wide and terrified. “What have you done?”

“I’ll do the same to you if you don’t...” Gakhsi swayed and then dropped onto his knees, raising his hands to his head. “Go. Just go, Una. Go.” He grabbed at the grass and lowered his head. His shoulderblades were dimming and he arched his back before flopping on it. For a moment, Stakar thought he’d died, but then his chest rose and fell.

Before any of the Ravagers could run at him, the Kylorian sprinted, disappearing in seconds. Stakar thought about sending people after him, but he was concerned that Kylam wasn’t far away. “Martinex, will you get our target?” Any of them could have just grabbed him, but Martinex was Pluvian - silicone-based - and felt nothing at even extreme levels of heat. “Everyone, grab a pod and get the hell outta here.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drax is reunited with Mantis and Rocket. Stakar and Aleta talk about Kylam to Martinex.

It was silent on their ship, located in the Jotarasitahn’s shipbay. Drax was anything but as he walked through it, searching for the children fate had thrown his way. He felt as if he would go mad if he spent one more second apart from them. He knew they were somewhere onboard, he’d seen the pod haphazardly left by the ship’s entrance, but the last time they’d disappeared together…

_“Drax.”_

He stopped, still, and looked for the source of the voice that had called out his name. As quiet enveloped him, he was able to hear better and followed his ears to the flight deck where Mantis sat against the pilot chair, a smaller figure by her side.

_Rocket._

He was sitting upright, eyes closed, leaning against Mantis – something he never usually did. Even more uniquely, her hand was on his head and Drax could see the bulbs of her antennae were alight. As long as Rocket and Mantis had known each other, he had never ever allowed her to use her powers on him, not for comfort or to sleep. He didn’t even stir as Drax stepped closer to them, didn’t react when Drax brushed a knuckle over his brow. He was in the kind of sleep he didn’t achieve by himself.

“That frightened him.” Mantis said. Her voice was matter-of-fact, but he could see by her eyes that it bothered her to see him like it. “I don’t want to wake him.”

“No, no.” Drax didn’t want that either. Rocket was abysmal at sleeping at the best of times and he’d been through some of the worst. “He needs sleep.”

Mantis’ eyes went back to Rocket. “How long have you been feeling like this?” she asked softly.

Crouching by them, Drax reached an arm to curve around Mantis’ shoulders. “What’s there?”

She hesitated, trying to catalogue what she was feeling. “Hurt,” she said finally. “And terror and anguish and horror.”

So that was what lay in Rocket’s mind. If only it could be erased by love alone. “Can you help these feelings?”

“It will take more than this to help. Every time I remove my hand, he grows restless.” Mantis looked at her hand as if considering removing it before shaking her head. “He will never admit how afraid he actually was on that planet.”

“I wouldn’t expect it of him.” Drax settled himself by them both and smoothed his hand over Rocket’s head, even though he knew full well that Rocket was in too deep a sleep to appreciate it. “When you’re focused on a goal, you rarely stop to consider your surroundings. I didn’t. That was how I ended up in the Kyln prison on Xandar.” And that was how Rocket had managed to survive a fortnight on Halfworld without losing his sanity. He’d had escape to focus on, had hope. “At least not yet. Maybe in a decade from now, he might get drunk enough to tell us, but not yet.”

Mantis managed a little smile. “Did you get to kill the scientist?”

“No.”

“Oh. Did Gamora?”

“Regrettably, he still lives.” For a moment, he looked at her hands, imagining the kind of havoc she could wreak if she had a lust for ruling others or a desire for inflicting cruelty. He could not imagine her using her powers for anything other than good. “Kylam sent slaves to collect him. One of them was responsible for those Ravagers dying.”

Mantis made a soft noise of understanding. “Did you kill that one?”

“No, the scientist did.” Drax couldn’t get the image out of his head. He’d honestly thought that the Aakonian had set himself alight at first. “There’s a heat defense that his kind are born with. His parents didn’t neutralise it and I don’t believe Kylam knew how to disable it. With the defense, he burnt the face off one and charred the neck of another. There was a third he allowed to live before he lost his energy and collapsed.”

“Why did he kill them?”

“He found out they lied about his sibling’s death and…and one threatened Rocket.” Not that it made Drax feel any better toward the man. Perhaps the scientist had seen sense, but it was too little and far too late. He’d seen for himself the kind of damage that had been inflicted on Rocket and it would always make him despise the scientist. “I haven’t seen him since and I have no need to. Rocket is safe and separated from the scientist again and that’s what matters.”

Mantis nodded. “We will be leaving the Jotarasitahn soon. I hope it will help Rocket feel safer.”

“Yes.” Drax brushed his fingertips over Rocket’s ears. “I’m sure it will." He also hoped Rocket would continue letting Mantis help him sleep and aid with his negative feelings as he was now. It was a colossal step for him - and testament to how terrified he had been, stuck alone on the planet he'd been born on, far away from family with only his deranged creator for company, with the knowledge that Kylam wanted him finished, whatever that meant. He managed to catch Mantis' eyes and nodded at her. "We'll leave as soon as we can, I'm sure of it."

“Mm.” Mantis’ fingers tousled behind Rocket’s ear. She didn’t look half as convinced as he was. “Kylam will still search for us. If his fighters were here, he’ll know what happened on the planet.”

“He’ll know his scientist fought against them. There’s no way for him to discover that he’s in Ravager custody.”

Her eyes looked into his, large and weary. “One lived. He will find his master and when he does, Kylam will know where to find his lost slave.”

“The Ravagers have faced his wrath before and survived. You needn’t worry.”

“You’re worried.”

She was correct – the fact was they still had Rocket close to the scientist and it did worry him. He admitted it with a nod. “Yes, but I will no longer be once we leave.” There was more danger on this ship than there was on their own. Once they left the Jotarasitahn, all would be well.

* * *

“Got a fighter, have we?” Aleta looked at Martinex, taking in the spatters of orange blood splashed across his face. She’d seen lots of people try to punch him, but usually they only did it the once and realised that smacking around a man made of diamond was a bad idea. “God. How many times did he hit you?”

“Four.” Martinex accepted her offer of a wet cloth and closed his eyes as she started cleaning inside the gaps between his crystallised ‘skin’. “He woke up, realised very quickly that he was somewhere he didn’t want to be and started throwing punches. Then he passed out again.”

“I wonder what he would’ve done if he’d actually knocked you out.”

“I have _never_ been knocked out.” Martinex reminded her. “Let’s be glad I wasn’t on this occasion.”

Aleta snickered, even though the Pluvian gave her a haughty look for it. “Oh, come on. It hurt him a lot more than it hurt you. Don’t be a baby.”

“Don’t listen to her.” Stakar said from his other side. “She’s just jealous. She would _love_ to be covered in blood right now.”

“I would.”

“You Arcturans are an odd people.” Martinex uttered. He drummed his fingers on his thigh. “Why do soft-skins try to hit me? I don’t understand it.”

In his sleep, their target jolted, settling back quickly. Lack of consciousness didn’t mean lack of care for him. Something was bothering him. Whether it was the fact he’d probably broken at least one of his fingers or the fact he’d killed two of his slave-brothers, it wasn’t good.

Letting her eyes move past the mangled skin on his hands, Aleta took in the sight of a bracelet tracker. She was familiar with them. There were many different makes and a little screen showed that this particular one tracked both health and whereabouts. The locational tracker had been removed. “He was disowned.”

“That makes him free by Kree law.” Martinex said. He nodded to Stakar, letting him know that the blood was no longer a problem and got to his feet.

“No. It means he’s unowned by Kree law. You don’t want to even think about what could happen to him on Hala with that status.”

“Then why did Kylam leave him on that planet?”

Stakar shook his head. “Don’t ask us to try and understand his mind, the way it works. He’s not like other masters, who beat the shit out of their slaves and treat ‘em like dirt. In a world filled with purists, he’s one of the few who has a little respect for other races in the galaxy. In other words, he seems very nice to his boys even when they know he isn’t nice at all. He talks to them, not at them. Acts like he listens, makes sure they’re healthy, gives them affection and praise for a good job. All the while, he’ll think nothing of whipping their bones open when they fuck up, won’t let them grieve their families, and if they want to ever start their own family – fuck ‘em because he will sterilise them and if they think to protest that, they’d better be prepared to watch it happen. If that isn’t enough, he’ll taunt them over their sterility until they finally ‘get over it’. And then the son of a bitch has the goddamn nerve to call it love.”

“That’s horrifying.”

“It is.” Aleta peered closer at the tracker. She could see healed-over scarring that showed her that its owner had tried to stop his movements being tracked on many occasions. “At least he doesn’t know your location.”

She turned away from him, looking at her husband and fellow captain. “At least not yet. There’s one other person who knows we were on that planet.”

“He was terrified.” Martinex reminded her. “I don’t think even the fear of his master’s rage will put him anywhere near this-” he gestured at the Aakonian lying four feet away from him, “-nuclear bomb again.”

“You’ve never seen that before, have you?” Stakar asked of Martinex. “It’s not as common as you’d think. Most of my Aakonian guys had their heatplates removed when they were kids. It’s not an easy or safe process, but they try to maintain a peaceful image on Oorg and if they have people burning somebody’s face off whenever they want, it doesn’t do a lot for that image.”

“You said most.”

“Yeah, some of them have their heatplates, but they don’t like to use them. Using them sucks the energy clean out of ‘em. That’s why he passed out.” He nodded his head to the door of the medbay. “Okay, he’s in a coma so he won't be much trouble and you’re cleanish. Let’s get outta here. We all got shit to do.” He stopped by the window and pulled a blind down. “Make sure he can’t see outside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta say, I loved writing Martinex. He's made of diamond/silicon (dependent on whom you ask) but he's anything but stone-hearted. 
> 
> And AT LAST the Rocket-Drax reunion! Well, not really because Rocket was asleep, but I figured that he would've desperately needed to turn off after a fortnight stuck with his creator back 'home'.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank tries to talk sense into Blackjack. Gakhsi tries to free himself. Rocket meets a new enemy.

“Where are you going?”

At the sound of Hank’s voice, Blackjack turned, his metal feet scraping against the steel flooring. “Nowhere.”

Hank raised a thick eyebrow. “You’re holding two knives in your hands, headed to the Guardians’ ship and you’re telling me you’re going nowhere. Come on. I’m not as dumb as I look.”

Blackjack eyed the floor irritably. The red of his eyes glowed back up at him. “Frick,” he muttered. “Alright, so I was gonna pay that dickwad a visit.”

“Yeah, I gathered that.” His dad held out an arm and then retracted it. Clearly he’d been about to reach out for the knives, but how could he take them? His hands were gone and only a hospital could provide him with prosthetics to replace them. “We talked about this, didn’t we?”

Blackjack looked up at him. “Pop. Don’t give me one of your speeches about forgiveness, _please.”_

“No, I’m not going to do that because you’d just walk off mid-sentence again.”

“Yeah, well, it’s stupid.”

“Forgiveness isn’t stupid.”

“Yes, it is. Okay? Forgiveness doesn’t bring them back. It doesn’t undo anything. All it does is make him feel like it was okay to…to do what he did.”

“Blackjack, you _know_ it wasn’t Rocket’s fault. You’re blaming the wrong person.”

“Whose fault _was_ it, then?” Blackjack snapped out. “Wasn’t anyone else who shot the place up, was there? Just him.”

“There was more than just him and you know that. You remember the sounds that came from his room, don’t you?”

Blackjack did remember, but that didn’t mean he was going to let the other Uplift off the hook. “I was awake for some of _my_ surgeries too,” he muttered.

“Yes, but there were two major differences in that. One was that you _always_ had pain relief, even after we left the lab, so you never felt a thing. Another difference is that I always asked you if you wanted to be asleep or awake. Rocket didn’t get a say in any of those things.”

“And _we_ got a say in leavin’ them behind?”

Looking into the anguished face of his son, Hank felt every piece of his heartbreak. He’d also been angry over it – still was, if he was being honest. But there was no use in blaming Rocket. Fact was, he’d failed them both. “They were my daughters, as well as your sisters,” he reminded his Uplift. “I loved them too, and it kills me to think of how scared they must have been. But I made a choice to save you, rather than risk us both by trying to save them. I allowed Rocket to be abused to the point he lost himself. If there’s anybody who deserves to be stabbed, it’s me.”

Blackjack looked away from him. His little grape-purple nose twitched. “Fine,” he said. “I _won’t_ stab him if it makes you happy.”

“It would. Go put those knives back where you found ‘em.”

“Why? _You_ ain’t gonna be using ‘em.”

“Blackjack!” Hank was about to say more, but then he looked down at his stumps and sighed out. “Okay, you do have a point, but you could’ve said that a little nicer. Just put them back safe, and don’t cut yourself.”

Finding the sleeping Ravager he’d “borrowed” the knives from, Blackjack placed them back under her belt. Leaving her, he went back to his father, springing from the floor to his elbow, dangling until Hank put his forearm under his feet to help him onto his shoulder.

Of all his sisters, only Poker had liked to sit up on their dad’s shoulder to enjoy the view from a tall person’s perspective with him. The other three preferred to stay down on the solid flooring of the lab. They’d all been his best friends and he felt the loss of them as keenly as he had the day he’d been forced to abandon them. “When the Ravagers and Guardians went down there,” he whispered into his dad’s ear, “did they find my sisters?”

Hank breathed out shallowly. “I haven’t been able to ask yet, but…they’re gone, sweetie. I’m sorry, but there’s no chance that they’re alive.”

They were the same words his dad had told him repeatedly when he’d been too small to really understand the idea of death, but now he could understand them. Ignoring the hard ball in his throat, Blackjack leant his head against Hank’s. “Sometimes…“

Hank used his stump to lightly nudge Blackjack’s shoulder. “Sometimes…?”

“Sometimes nothin’.”

“Blackjack, I’m your dad. That means I have the right – no - the _duty_ to nag at you until you come clean. What are you thinking?”

“Sometimes I kinda wish we got stuck there too and…you know. Died there. Together.”

Pain filled Hank’s heart to hear it, but he could understand Blackjack’s point. Sometimes even he had wished that, too, in the darkest moments. “I know. There were a couple times I felt like that, too.”

“How did you…not feel like that any more?”

“It was a little easier for me, because I had you to focus on and give a lot of love to. But you didn’t get anyone to focus on. I just didn’t want to replace the girls because it wouldn’t have been fair on them.”

“No, it wouldn’t have been.” Blackjack agreed. “I never blamed you for not givin’ me any more sisters. I didn’t want any more, just wanted the ones I’d lost.” He turned his head to meet his dad’s eye. “I don’t want any brothers either, if you’re gettin’ any ideas.”

“Blackjack, if I had another Uplift, I think the strain would _kill_ me.”

“All the more reason to not add to our little family, then.”

“I’m glad you have me at heart, son.” Hank kept an arm raised to support Blackjack as he started walking. “Come on, let’s find a spot to settle down for the night. Some of us need our beauty sleep.”

“Must be you,” Blackjack said, grabbing a handful of Hank’s dark, curly hair for stability. “‘cause I sure don’t.”

* * *

Opening his eyes to the knowledge he was on a spaceship wasn’t the worst part. Neither was the stretched-out feeling of exhaustion. No, the worst part was seeing the phantom of his half-brother looking down at him. He narrowed his eyes back at him. “What?”

“That wasn’t very fucking honourable, Gakhsi.”

“God, shut up about honour.” Closing his eyes against the dull grey of the room, he turned his face away, even though he knew he would see Il-Sahn regardless of where he directed his vision. “I don’t know how you can stand there, with a straight face, lecturing me about honour. You have _no_ honour.”

“Hey, I might not have much honour but, _I_ _never burnt one of our_ _brother’s faces off!”_ Il-Sahn shouted.

“No, you just scarred half of them and enslaved the other half.”

“I _won_ the other half of them in the ring. That’s not the point. Burning people to death is vile.”

“I don’t know. Wasn’t so bad when Papa did that to you.”

“Oh my-” Il-Sahn’s feet were noiseless, but Gakhsi knew he was pacing. He’d been a pacer when he was alive. “Look at me, please.”

“Haven’t I seen enough horrible shit in my life?”

“Now!”

Opening his eyes to shut his brother up, Gakhsi glared into his face. “They lied about our sister being dead!”

“People lie all the fucking time, Gax! You lied a hell of a lot to that thing you made, if you’ll remember.”

“Yeah, and I ended up blind for it, if _you’ll_ fucking remember. I ended up blind, they ended up burnt. Each of us got what we deserved.”

“So this is justice to you? Burning two of the only people in the galaxy who actually gave a shit about you just because they told a little lie?”

“How would you react if it turned out Minn-Erva wasn’t dead and somebody let you go through that? All that pain, all that grief.”

“Why couldn’t you have just been happy she was alive, not angry that you’d been lied to?”

“Because if I hadn’t been lied to, I would never have sent the dogs to Oorg. They would never have torn her husband’s arm off. They wouldn’t have been a threat to her. I put our sister in danger because of that lie. And I am not angry. I’m furious.” Both of them had been wanted by Kylam, both had been in danger. Hiding Akhila had doomed him, but she’d been his last piece of family and it had been vital to keep her safe. And it had worked. Even though he’d sent dogs to Oorg as an act of terrorism, it had worked. She was alive. She had a loving husband. She had _children._

“We don’t call them our brothers for the fun of it. They were your family too.”

“They’re no more my family than you are.”

Il-Sahn huffed out drily. “Okay. Yeah, we’ll see if that’s true when you run out of your anxiety meds.”

Touching the pocket by his hip, Gakhsi could feel the cylinder of the meds container. The one he’d taken would wear off soon. There were only six days left until he ran out and then what? He couldn’t remember how he reacted to being on a spaceship, it had been so long ago, but he did know that looking at a night sky made him feel nothing but dread.

Being in that sky could only be worse.

“Better hope they go quick.” Il-Sahn’s taunting voice chimed behind him. “Better hope Master doesn’t find where you are. Better hope you don’t start seeing Wylis and-“

“Shut up.”

“Better hope Oorg doesn’t send you back to avoid another fight. Better hope they don’t run out of fuel. Better hope they don’t decide to throw you out of the ship-“

“Get out of my head!” Gakhsi yelled at him. “Get the fuck _out_ of it!”

“You need me in there. Remember who was there when nobody else was. It wasn’t our father, it wasn’t your mother, it wasn’t even Master. It was _me.”_

“These people aren’t your master. They won’t do any of the things you just said because to them, I’m worth a lot more alive than dead. They might be Ravagers, but I’m a lot safer now than I was back then. I don’t need you. I’m going back home.”

 _“Back home?”_ Il-Sahn repeated scathingly. “You want to go back _home,_ little brother? I’ll tell you what’ll happen back home, shall I? You’ll be locked up the rest of your life, surrounded by fuckin’ head doctors with notebooks.”

“Maybe the head doctors will help me get rid of you.”

Il-Sahn’s eyes, metallically blue even in death, glowed out from his face. “You don’t mean that.”

“Rocket did say that it isn’t healthy to talk to the dead.”

Il-Sahn breathed heavily out through his nose. “I am your _brother,”_ he said through gritted teeth.

“My dead brother. You’re _gone_. If I’m ever going to move on from everything that happened, you need to stay gone.”

“You’re on a spaceship. Once those things run out, you’ll need me.”

“No, I won’t. I’ll just need more of those things. You aren’t the solution to my problem, Il-Sahn. You’re the cause of it.”

“You really want me gone? Forever?”

“I need you gone. And, yeah, that means forever.”

Il-Sahn was silent. Deathly silent. “Alright,” he said, his voice unusually gravelly. “When you’re off this ship, I’ll leave you alone.”

“I won’t change my mind.”

His brother huffed out something like a laugh. “We’ll see,” he said. “We’ll fuckin’ see.”

* * *

For a moment, Rocket was able to think that the prior two weeks had been nothing but a bad dream. Then his brain very (un)helpfully reminded him that, no, it wasn’t. It had all happened. There was still a deranged Kree warlord after his blood, he’d still spent half a month with Gax, he was still balls-deep in trouble and, to really top things off, Groot had stepped foot on Halfworld.

What a _life._

Stretching out his arms, he butted his head lightly against Mantis’ hip. She mumbled in her own deep slumber and flexed her fingers so they tousled the fur on his head. Licking his palm, he smoothed it back down and looked to his left. Immediately, he felt nothing but relief. Drax was in as deep a sleep as Mantis was, so he rubbed his head against the man’s elbow and got to his feet to edge around him to see where everybody was.

Quill and Gamora were both asleep, huddled together by Mantis’ feet. Kraglin was slumped against the wall, mouth open, though he snored noiselessly. Groot was snoozing in his old pot with an angry-looking, red-eyed creature standing over him…

Wait.

Both Rocket and the creature looked at each other. He noticed it had long, spindly metal legs protruding from loose shorts that dangled around his knees. Long flopping ears dangled over his metal face, almost obscuring his vision. Uplift. It was an Uplift. “Last I saw of you, you shot my dad and pretty much killed my sisters. D’you remember me?”

In a low voice, not wanting to wake up Groot and scare him, Rocket said; “You don’t need to take it out on the kid. Step away from the pot.”

“Nah. ‘Cause they didn’t really need to die in that building, alone, without me or Pop to comfort them. But that’s what happened, isn’t it?”

“Don’t do this. I only hurt one person on purpose on that day. I didn’t mean for anything to happen to your sisters. They never did anything and neither did Groot.”

“They still _died_ , didn’t they?”

More than anything, Rocket wanted to look away from him, but he forced himself to keep looking into Blackjack’s eyes. “Yeah, they did. I’m sorry. I didn’t have a dad like you did. I had…I had Gax.”

“He couldn’t have been _that_ bad.”

“He was worse than bad. But that doesn’t mean it was okay that I shot up the place and wrecked your family. You hate me and you’re right to hate me. I know what happened hurt you and probably fucked you up a lot. You want to hurt me, that’s fine. Just don’t bring other innocent people into this.”

There was a hefty silence, during which Blackjack’s robotic eyes dimmed every few seconds as if they were blinking. “Rocket,” he said, in a drawling voice. “Just remember you fucking started this.” From his pocket, he brought out something cylindrical and pressed down until there was a clicking noise and a bright flame shone in the darkness.

 _“NO!”_ Fire would kill his son, even a small amount, and the knowledge made his own skin burn. Jumping forward on all fours, he knocked into the other Uplift, sending the lighter flying up. He yanked Groot out of the pot by his arm, giving the poor sapling a brutal awakening - but hey, it was better than being _burned alive_ – and held him in one arm as the lighter clattered on the floor. “Now,” he growled. “Now you’ve really pissed me off.” Nobody but _nobody_ threatened his kid and got away with it. “This is a big ship, Blackjack, so you could run and hide, but I’ll fuckin’ find you. You could run to Daddy and beg him for help and I’m sure he’ll do what he can, but he’s gotta sleep sometime.”

“You think I’m _afraid_ of you?”

“I think you’re about to be.” From behind, Rocket could hear stirrings, so he tossed Groot to the nearest person and charged at Blackjack, crashing into him once again. The other Uplift knew how to fight, he soon found, but his claws were kept trimmed down – probably Hank Jacobs’ doing – so it didn’t bother him when he got scratched. The legs were a problem. They looked flimsy, but were tougher than they looked. As one kicked into his shoulder, cutting into his skin, he grabbed below its knee and twisted until it snapped. “Consider this,” he seethed, “a warning to stay away from my fucking kid.” Verbal warning finished, he plunged the Uplift’s severed metal leg into his shoulder, to the sounds of Blackjack screaming.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank learns what became of his daughters. Rocket finally gets to spend time with Drax.

“I can’t believe you’re mad at _me_ when _I_ was the one who got _stabbed!”_

_“I_ can’t believe _you_ tried to set a defenceless little baby on _fire!”_ Hank snapped. He was not in any way pleased with his Uplift’s antics. If it weren’t for the fact Blackjack had been stabbed, he would have been a lot madder. “Goddammit, Blackjack. God _dammit_. Have I ever, at any point, told you it’s okay to do that? Have I?”

“Well, not in as many words, no. But you’re missing the big picture here, Pop.”

Mustering up the last of his patience, Hank said; “And what picture is that?”

“Rocket ripped off my leg and stabbed me with it, that’s what.”

Hank wished he had one of his hands left so he could facepalm with it. He heard something like a badly-disguised laugh from behind the closed curtains around one of the other beds and barely suppressed the urge to open the curtains and knock both Blackjack and Gax’s heads together. _‘Hank Jacobs, you are not a violent man,’_ he reminded himself. _‘And how the hell can you knock their heads together when you can’t hold them in place?’_

“Pop, you can’t seriously be taking his side after he-“

“Enough.” Hank interrupted. He wasn’t in the habit of interrupting his son, but he genuinely didn’t know if he had the strength to listen to him try to defend his actions anymore. “God, enough. You did something I doubt even that Kree jerk would do and it sickens me to think I somehow screwed up enough to raise you that way. You’re not even sorry you did it. Just…get out of my sight, would you? I can’t even look at you right now.” To prove his point, he looked away, listening as Blackjack landed on his newly-mended legs, his feet softly clinking on the floor as he walked away.  
Once the door had closed, he went to the bed nearest his ex-colleague’s and perched on its edge, resting his elbows on his knees, looking at the floor. Just how had he ended up like this? Billions of miles away from Earth, having raised his kid to set babies on fire when he was mad (seriously, _how_ had that happened?), hands amputated and wearing glasses he’d had to borrow from space pirates because an alien warlord had snapped his last pair. The glasses, as if sensing his displeasure, slipped off his face and clattered to the floor. “Great,” Hank muttered. He reached out his left arm, intending to use the stump where his hand had been to push them nearer to himself, but instead they shot out and slid underneath the curtain around Gax’s bed. _“Shit.”_

Just as he’d resigned himself to the fact he would have to ask for another pair of glasses, the curtains parted and, even with his blurry vision, he could just about make out the Aakonian stepping toward him before everything became a little clearer as he pushed the glasses back into place. He wasn’t laughing now. He stepped back on shaking legs and collapsed back onto the bed, looking like he very much wished he was anywhere but where he was. Then he noticed Hank’s hands. His shoulders slumped and he held his own hands together tightly. “I’m sorry, Hank. I never thought he would come after you.”

“You never thought a lot of things would happen, but they did. It doesn’t matter if it affects _me,_ but when it affects my kids…” Hank squeezed his eyes shut. “What happened to them? What happened to my baby girls?”

“I thought you’d taken them with you.” Gax said. “I stayed in Room 57 for…I can’t remember how long. Maybe two weeks. And one day I heard this little voice saying ‘Onu’.”

Hank felt his chest constrict. Snap had the worst difficulty with pronouncing words. ‘Onu’ had been her name for Uno. “Did Uno…did she die first?”

Gax answered with a nod. “I found them huddled around her. They asked what was wrong with her, so I told them she was asleep and wrapped her in a blanket so they wouldn’t be able to see or...smell her. They were so… _thin,_ but they were so weak they couldn’t eat. I found the powdered milk you gave them when they were babies, but it wasn’t enough. They just got weaker and hungrier and kept crying out for Uno. I should’ve…I should’ve let them all go when I found them. There was no chance of saving them, not by myself, not in the lab with the mess it was in, but I didn’t want to let them die. They were just little ones. I had…I was left ten milligrams of pain relief by Kylam when he took my tracker. His way of telling me to kill myself. I wanted to take it, but they were the ones in pain and fear, so I gave it to them.”

Not trying to hide the quiver in his voice, Hank asked; “How much did you give them?”

“Three and a quarter.”

“Each?” At the affirming nod, Hank looked up at the brightly-lit ceiling of the medroom. “That’s one hell of an overdose. Tell me they didn’t asphyxiate on their own vomit.”

“No. The relief just stopped their…It was heart failure in the end. They just fell asleep and stopped breathing.” Carefully, the Aakonian added; "It was pain relief. They didn't suffer, not even a little bit. I promise they didn't. I gave them an overdose so they _wouldn't_ suffer, not so they would."

Hot tears worked their way out of the corners of Hank’s eyes. He let them trail down, over his jawbone. “Did you bury them too?”

“No, I left them in their bed together and covered them with blankets.” There was a pause and Gax said; “What do you mean by ‘too’?”

“Jesus, Gax. Your Uplift’s mom dies and you come up to me asking about Terran death customs. Come _on._ You really didn’t think I’d figure out you wanted to do?” Letting himself look back at the Aakonian, he added; “Subtlety has never been your strongest point.”

“Should I have buried them instead?”

Hank resisted the urge to try and rip his head off. _'This isn't you, this isn't you. Don't stoop to that level...'_ Gritting his teeth, he said; “No, you should’ve listened to me when I told you about how important it is to be patient and kind and understanding to your kid. It wasn’t like you were kidding anyone with your ‘I’m not emotionally attached’ bullshit.”

“Yes, I was.”

“Who?”

“Me. Kylam. Rocket.” Gax shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. He found someone who’ll always put him first which is more than I ever did for him.”

“Kylam. That’s the…”

“The Kree jerk you were talking to Blackjack about.” Gax glanced his way. “I’m sure you know our history by now.”

 _History._ That was _one_ way of putting it, for sure. “Did you know he wanted an Uplift army? Did you tell him about my kids?”

“Yes, I knew he wanted an army. No, I never mentioned your children to him. If he asked about any other ‘weapons’, I told him I didn’t know anything. I don’t know where he learned about you and Blackjack, but it wasn’t from me.”

 _‘Then where?’_ Hank wondered. _‘And is Kylam going to come back for us?’_

“Hank.” When he had Hank’s begrudging attention, the Aakonian said; “You’re right. You were always right. I should’ve been kinder, I should’ve been patient, I should’ve tried to be like…like…”

“Like a dad.”

Something flickered across Gax’s features too quickly for Hank to recognise. “Yeah,” he said in a numb tone. “You were the only person on Halfworld I liked. I never…I didn’t mean to hurt you or your family and I’m so sorry that I did. I’m sorry for what I caused for your daughters, I’m sorry I didn’t think to warn you about Kylam. You didn't deserve any of... _this."_

“You killed my girls,” Hank said. The words sounded slow to his ears. “God. I spent the last seven years lecturing Blackjack about the value of forgiving people, but I can’t forgive that.” His daughters, his babies, gone. _‘They didn’t suffer,’_ one part of him was saying. _‘Yeah, but they still died,’_ screamed another. “Goddamn you,” Hank muttered. He swallowed to try and defend himself against more tears. “God _damn_ you.”

“I’m not apologising in the hope you’ll forgive me, Hank. I realised years ago that I don’t deserve to be forgiven for what I did to you. I’m apologising because you deserve an apology.”

“I don’t want an apology, _I want my daughters back!”_

Gax let him have a couple minutes’ silence before saying; “Hank, I promise you I tried everything to keep them alive.”

Hank looked at the ceiling again, even though the stark, white lights burned multicoloured circles into his vision. Even so, his throat ached and water ran from his eyes. “I know you did,” he said, his voice not sounding like his own. "Worst thing is I can't just blame you. It wasn't just you who put them in that situation. I’m torn between blaming you for being so goddamn heartless that you made your kid snap, and blaming myself for not asking _why_ you acted like that.” He let himself look back at the Aakonian who was now staring at the floor. “Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?”

“Because I was ashamed of it and nobody in the lab was going to want to help me.”

 _“I_ would’ve.” Hank used the stump of his left wrist to push his glasses further up his nose. “Jackass or not, you were still a kid. And, Jesus, the only person who should’ve been ashamed of your situation was the person who put you in it. It wasn’t you who got Kylam's wife pregnant.”

Gax looked down. “I might have guessed he’d tell you the story.”

“Yeah. He told me this story about his wife running off to a faraway world, abandoning their daughter, to have a son with another man. Then he told me what he did, all this vengeance. He killed his wife, he made a slave out of his stepson…all these horrible things as part of this disproportionate revenge scheme. And it didn’t end there, did it? It just kept going, all because his pride got hurt. And it’s still going now, only it’s not _just_ him who wants revenge. Blackjack does too.” 

Gax must have heard the worry in his voice. He looked up again, voice full of sincerity. “He’s not going to end up like Kylam. You're too good a parent for that to happen.”

“I dunno. Setting babies on fire seems like something the jerk would do.”

“Maybe Rocket can stab him with his own leg, too.”

Hank shot him an angry glare. “It’s not funny.”

“It is-” Gax started saying, but then he saw his face and backtracked. _“Isn’t_ funny.” He cleared his throat. “I lost my half-brother and was told my sister died the day I was taken. I can tell you right now, Blackjack _isn’t_ angry. He’s hurt and even you aren’t enough to fill the emptiness his sisters left behind.”

“What will?”

“I don’t know.”

Hank didn't bother to hide his annoyance. “Thanks for your help.”

Gax breathed out heavily. “For me, personally, it helped to train war-dogs to go to the world that failed to protect me and set them on the _people_ who failed to protect me.”

“Oh, good _god.”_

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d like that idea.” There was another moment of silence and he said; “Tell him the truth about what happened to the girls.”

“He already knows they’re dead. What good is telling him you killed them going to do?”

“It’ll stop him from blaming Rocket and hopefully will put an end to this attempted infancide business he’s gotten into.” Gax held up two fingers, inadvertently displaying the peace sign. “Two good reasons, Hank.”

“It’ll break his heart.”

Gax put his hand down and looked into his face. “Hank,” he said. “It’s been broken for almost seven years.”

* * *

He trusted his family with things of far greater value than his own life, so when Gamora offered to take Groot up to the flight deck so he could watch the stars from the control console, he didn’t argue. At least not much. After giving him a promise that she wouldn’t let anything happen to their child, she left their ship, Groot on her shoulder with a handful of her magenta hair gripped in his tiny wooden fingers. For the rest of his life, Rocket didn’t think he would ever be able to forget the sight of Groot about to be burnt alive.

Hell, he didn’t think he would be able to forget anything of the past two weeks.

Turning onto his back, he quickly gave up on the idea of resting and sat up, rubbing his eyes. It wasn’t so much the lack of sleep that was tiring him. He didn’t know what it was. Physically he felt fine, but every cell in his body was crying out for sleep. He just couldn’t comply on his own. He was afraid of what his mind would show him if he let himself drift away.

Light flooded the small room and it took several seconds’ blinking to recognise the person who’d decided to interrupt his alone time. It was the first time in what seemed like years that it was just him and the one person in his life who’d ever treated him like a son. Drax let the door quietly shut, and crossed the room in three strides and sat by his feet on the little shelf Rocket had claimed for his sleeping space when they’d first officially ‘moved in’. He turned his head slowly to face him, bright blue eyes looking over him as if he was trying to memorise him. There was a look on Drax’s features Rocket couldn’t place. He took in a shallow breath and said; “I am sorry it took us so long to find you.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s _not.”_

“No, really. I got out of there in one piece, which is less pieces than I thought I was gonna be in.”

 _“Rocket.”_ Upset as he was, Drax refused to raise his voice. God knew why. After the fortnight Rocket had endured, being yelled at was the last thing that would frighten him. “You do not need to talk about it with such levity.”

“I’ll talk about it how I fucking want.” Rocket snapped. “You weren’t fucking there, were you?”

“No, you’re right I wasn’t, but I’m here now.”

Those were the same words Rocket said to Groot whenever the sapling awoke from a bad dream. He knew Drax had used them on purpose, but didn’t have the lack of heart to do more than narrow his eyes at him. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Look, I’m fine. Really. I didn’t get hurt and he wasn’t…he wasn’t the asshole he used to be.” He rubbed a hand over his brow. “Wouldn’t surprise me if this was all a really weird dream.”

“Mm.” Drax nodded. “It’s been a difficult time.”

Rocket almost smiled at the understatement. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “It’s just that if I shut my eyes, I don’t know what I’m gonna see. I don’t want to be back on that table.”

Drax tilted his head slightly. He seemed about to say something, but stopped, instead reaching out a hand, brushing his fingertips behind Rocket’s ear. “I have been foolish and left Kamaria’s brush where I sleep. Do you want to come with me?”

It was a ploy – and one he’d let himself fall for many a time when feeling uneasy. Rocket breathed out softly. He guessed Drax’s room was the best place to be because helped to be somewhere that smelled like his dad.

_His dad._

Did Drax remember what he’d said? It was hard to say, the man was looking at him the same way he always did. No pity, no condescension. Just calm and patience, like always. _'Of course he remembers, you idiot.'_ Rocket thought. _'He was probably thinking you'd never want a dad, but he always wanted you to choose him. He remembers.'_ He held onto Drax’s wrist to pull himself up and glanced into his eyes. “Okay, Dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry, guys. I did genuinely want to do the cute Rocket-Drax scene, but after the mammoth chat Hank and Gax had, the chapter was a smidge too long as it was. However, next chapter will have said cute Rocket-Drax scene, so hold on, because it is coming.
> 
> I'm sure some of you are wondering why Hank didn't break Gax's face for what he did. Believe me, I was very tempted. The problem was, he tells himself; "You are not a violent man," so for him to say that and then kick the shit out of Gax would have been a little out of place for him.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank talks with Blackjack about grief. Rocket talks with Drax about matters of the heart.

Even on the enormous ship, finding Blackjack was the easiest part. The difficult part was figuring out how to tell his son what had happened to his sisters. The thing Hank found hardest to bear was the idea that Snap, Poker and Gofish had huddled around their sister’s lifeless body, nudging her, calling her name in hope she would wake up. How long had they stayed like that until they’d been found? From what Gax had told him, they’d been found very quickly after Uno had died.

Then, one by one, the other three had followed until the only one left of his five children was Blackjack.

Hank watched him from a distance. Blackjack was sitting by a large window – one of the lookout stations on the Jotarasitahn. His ears were flopped down which meant he was either asleep or sad. A skinny arm stretched up in the air, the hand scratching behind his ear, and Hank steeled himself. _‘No chickening out,’_ he warned himself. _‘You owe your kid honesty.’_

Blackjack’s head turned as he heard Hank’s footsteps. His eyes seemed to follow his father as he sat opposite him. “You still mad at me?”

“No. I was never mad at you. I was mad at what you did.”

“Same thing.”

“Blackjack…” For the life of him, Hank did not know what to say. He tried to think of something and, when that failed, held out an arm. “Come over here.” Just how he was going to tell him the truth, he didn’t know. As Blackjack settled on his lap, he encircled both arms around his small frame, remembering with clarity how both fortunate and wretched he’d felt the day he’d left Halfworld with one child, as opposed to the five that had been born there. His last Uplift. “I don’t get mad. You know that.” He could feel Blackjack’s clawed, small hands gripping his shirt and wished he could rub behind his ears or some other comforting touch. Hank had never liked the look of cybernetics, but maybe they weren’t such a bad idea after all. “I, uh, I haven’t been fair on you, have I?”

Blackjack lifted his head in order to look at him. The discs of his eyes dimmed and glowed, like he was blinking. “What the _hell_ are you talking about?”

“I never talked about them properly with you. I thought that the less you thought about them, the better it would be for you.”

“Well, sure, but you’re not a jerk about it, Pop. You just change the subject.”

“That’s what I mean. That wasn’t fair.” Breathing deeply in, Hank said; “I honestly thought it would be better for you, that maybe you’d…forget about them.”

Sounding confused, Blackjack asked; “How could you think that?”

“Because you were barely two years old, so I thought you would lose your memory of them as you grew up.”

_“Pop.”_

“I know. It was stupid and pretty selfish because you clearly, desperately needed to talk and grieve about them and I wouldn’t let you. It’s probably a little late, but I want to fix that. Preferably now.”

“Right this second?”

“Right this second.”

Blackjack was thoughtfully quiet for a moment and then nodded his head. “Okay.”

Both relieved and mildly terrified, Hank tilted his head. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Did you find out what happened to them yet?”

Typical of Blackjack to go straight for the worst question. Hank wanted to lie, dodge the issue, anything but tell his son the truth, but he had to see it through. He _had_ to. “Yes,” he answered. “I did.”

Blackjack said nothing, but looked at him expectantly out of his glowing eyes.

“Gax found them a couple weeks after we left. He could hear Poker calling for Uno, trying to wake her up, only she was…”

“What happened to Uno?” Blackjack asked with an abnormally grated voice. “I know she died first, so what happened?”

“They were all starving, but she passed first. She was the oldest of you all, so if I had to guess why she died so quickly, I would say that she probably made sure Gofish, Snap and Poker got her share of food.”

“Yeah,” Blackjack wiped his hand over the bridge of his nose. “Sounds right. Go on.”

“When we left, they had a full bowl of pellets between them. It would have lasted them maybe two days, but they were left without food for two weeks. They were very weak when Gax found them. Too weak to eat real food. He found milk I had leftover from when you five were babies, but they needed more. They needed medical help, but it was just him and an emptied-out lab.” To himself more than anything, he murmured. “There wasn’t a shot in hell of saving them.”

Blackjack looked stricken. “They all _starved_ to death?”

Hank swallowed. It was hard to speak past the giant lump in his throat, but he did, and he said; “No. They were given an overdose with very strong pain relief. Their hearts stopped and they would’ve just…gone to sleep and not woke up.”

“Why did he do that?”

“’Cause they were in pain and they were scared. And he knew the second he found them that there was nothing he could do to keep them alive.”

“He didn’t have to _kill_ them. How could he do that to them when he had one of his own?”

Hank wanted to look away from Blackjack. He didn’t let himself. “Sometimes, if we’re hurt enough, it messes us up in here.” He gestured to his own head. “It messes with your empathy, it can even make you act like the person who hurt you. That’s how.” With care, he used what remained of his wrist to turn Blackjack’s head so their eyes met. “He didn’t hurt us on purpose, but he did, right?”

Blackjack nodded. “I feel like letting the Kree guy know where he is.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure.”

“So do I.”

Blackjack’s voice was hopeful. “Does that mean we can do it?”

“No, for two reasons. One, I don’t think either of us would survive Kylam again. Two, we’re not that evil.” Maybe a little evil, to the people they’d scammed over the years in various intergalactic casinos, but not that much. He half-smiled at his son and turned serious again. “Look, anger isn’t always a secondary emotion. You have a right to be angry, but it’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to admit it. Haven’t I told you that a billion times?”

Blackjack was quiet, his eyes lowered. “It’s easier,” he muttered quietly.

“Just because something’s easier for you doesn’t mean it’s better.” Hank said, keeping his voice gentle. “I know you got hurt and want to pass it on. That’s all it is. You think if somebody else feels the way you do, you’ll stop feeling like it. But you won’t. It’ll still be there. Except it’ll be worse because somebody innocent will be hurting too and _they’ll_ want to pass it on. That’s what revenge is. Trying to pass on something that can’t be passed on.”

“Am I gonna feel this way forever?”

“It will hurt less, but you’ll always miss ‘em.” He would. They both would. “Getting over a loss like that is gradual. Very slow. The kind of progress you’ll realise after ten, twenty years have gone by.” Hank paused for a minute as Blackjack lay his head on his shoulder, the cold metal of the Uplift’s skull chilling his skin. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk about grief with you before. I really should’ve.”

“It’s okay. Wasn’t like I would’ve really wanted to listen before now.”

“Why _now?”_

Blackjack used his trimmed claws to scratch under his jawbone. “I don’t want to be anywhere near as bad as the prick who hurt you.” His eyes couldn’t produce tears, hadn’t been able to since…well, since ever, but there was no mistaking the subtle tremor in his voice. “I’m sorry, Pop. I’m sorry for what I tried to do to that kid. It wasn’t right. I wasn’t thinking right. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Blackjack…” Hank knew he’d put the idea in his son’s head _(‘you did something I doubt even that Kree jerk would do…’)_ and wished he’d kept his mouth shut. “You’re not, nowhere close. I was mad and said something I shouldn’t have said. I never meant for you to feel like that. I’m sorry.”

Blackjack pushed the side of his head into Hank’s shoulder. “Bein’ mad can make you do some stupid shit, can’t it?”

“Yeah,” Hank nodded his head and then rested it against the wall. “I forgive you. But the thing is, it isn’t my place to forgive you. It wasn’t me you wronged.”

“Pop, I can’t go up to Rocket and say it. I already got stabbed once.”

“I wasn’t gonna suggest you go up to Rocket. I was gonna say apologise to one of the Guardians. Rocket’s not Groot’s only parent.”

Blackjack groaned softly. _“God.”_

Hank let him have a few seconds before saying; “What we’re caught up in here is a decades-old revenge scheme. Kylam’s driven by revenge on a guy he killed fifteen years ago. You’re not like that and I know you don’t want to be like that. You’ve got to stop looking for revenge when you know that all it does is hurt innocent people.”

“I want someone to pay, Pop. Rocket, Gax, _somebody’s_ gotta pay.”

“Gax is looking at a life sentence in a place he’ll never touch a surgical tool again. He’ll never cause that kind of destruction again. And Rocket…it isn’t fair of you to blame him for what happened. It’s _really_ not fair. Not when you heard the same things I did.” Hank sighed out heavily. “I don’t know for sure what went on in Room 57. I know the surgeries were done without anaesthesia, without pain relief. I’m pretty sure Gax hit him, hurt him when he didn’t do well enough. I know he wasn’t given real care, just the basics. I know he didn’t have any love in that room that Gax could give him. He could’ve gone bad, for real, after he shot up the place. He could’ve hunted us all down over the years, picking us off one by one. He could’ve gone to Oorg and taken out every living member of Gax’s people. He could’ve been cruel. He could have killed you last night, you know that? The shoulder and neck aren’t that far apart, really, but he didn’t, even after you tried to off his kid.”

“Why didn’t he?”

“Because, in spite of all Gax did to him, there’s still a decent-sized part of him that’s good.” Hank looked down, into Blackjack’s blazing eyes. “Nobody’s _all_ good. But he’s helped save this galaxy twice, so he can’t be all bad.”

Blackjack said nothing, but rubbed his shoulder almost thoughtfully.

“I’m not asking you to like him. I’m asking you to understand that this wasn’t Rocket’s fault. And if you really want somebody to pay, let it be Kylam. He was the one who sent Gax to Halfworld.” Among other things that Hank didn’t like to think about. “The Guardians aren’t going to let him get away with what he’s planning.”

The Uplift was quiet, tilting his head down. A soft breath escaped his lungs. “Okay. Okay, Pop.”

“Hey.” Waiting until Blackjack gave him his full attention, Hank used his wrist to brush over the cold metal of his head. “They loved you. Nothing changes that, nothing at all. And they didn’t feel a thing when they passed on.”

Blackjack swallowed. “I know they didn’t. But I wish…I wish I’d been there with ‘em.”

“Same here. Best I can do is be here for you now.”

Blackjack leaned his head against Hank’s collarbone. It hurt, but found he didn’t mind it. “You’re always there for me, Pop.”

* * *

“Nothing makes sense anymore.” Rocket said after an hour’s silence. In the past hour, he’d declined the offer to have his fur brushed and had just wanted to sprawl over Drax’s chest, the man’s hands smoothing over his back. Of all things he hated, being held and having his back touched topped the list and somehow it was all he wanted. Conversely, one of his favourite things was having his fur brushed and it was the one thing he _didn’t_ want. Where was the sense in _that?_

“Events have been strange recently.” Drax agreed. His fingertips brushed over the largest implant in Rocket’s back and hastily moved to his right shoulder, resting the palm over his shoulderblade. “Quill said two mornings ago that there hasn’t been a dull moment. I wasn’t sure what he meant. How can a moment lack shining?”

“He meant it hasn’t been boring.” This was what he needed. Normal conversation. Normal routines. Normal people. This was a temporary break, he knew. Soon, it would be back into the fight. “I didn’t mean for all this to happen.”

“The fault isn’t yours. You did not know of Kylam’s involvement in your…development.”

“No, but I could’ve gone with Mantis in the opposite direction of that blue fuck.”

“You had no way of knowing what would happen.” Drax said. He exhaled deeply. “None of us did.”

“Did Mantis get out okay? Y’know, didn’t get herself hurt or anything.”

“She was fine. Just worried and…blamed herself for letting you go alone.”

“That’s dumb of her. Wasn’t like she could’ve stopped me.” Rocket lay his head so his ear was pressed up against Drax’s chest. He could hear his powerful heart lightly pounding inside it. “No, I was the dumb one. Kylam told me to tell you guys to get the hell off his ship without me and I didn’t, ‘cause I thought I could kill him by myself. Could’ve got you all killed.”

To his surprise, Drax made an amused sound. “No, you know us better. Those fighters he pays are no match for us. I am sure Groot could have slain _many_ of those.”

Rocket huffed. “You’re tellin’ me. He’s already stronger than _you.”_

Drax looked momentarily stricken. “Not yet,” he insisted. “I refuse to be physically weaker than an infant.”

“Didn’t your dad throw a party that time you beat him in a wrestle match?”

“Yes. It is a rite of passage from my village. If a son can defeat his father in such a match, it shows that he is strong enough to fend for himself and his own family. It showed that I was no longer a boy, but a man.”

“I always liked that story.”

“As do I.” Drax smiled at the memory. “I was not an infant at the time of the match, I was seventeen years of age. That’s an acceptable age to surpass your father’s strength.”

_‘I wonder how he’ll take it when he realises that Groot’s not even a year old and is already stronger than him?’_ Rocket wondered. He didn’t have it in him to point it out fully to Drax, so he listened to his heartbeat for a couple of minutes instead. “I wonder how old I am.”

Drax looked at him strangely. “You know how old you are. You are almost eight.”

“Yeah, but how many eight-year-olds are like _me?”_ Most other eight-year-olds were _children._ Whatever he was, a child wasn’t one of them. “Not a lot of ‘em know how to pilot a spacecraft.”

“Oh.” Drax nodded. “I understand what you meant now. I don’t know, but if it matters, we can try to find out. Your tablet-”

“I’ve looked on there. It don’t say. Just a bunch of crap about the progress I made when I was in the lab.”

“Mmm.” Drax was silent. “If it’s important, we’ll try to find it out. If it helps, nobody considers you a child based on your physical age.”

“I probably should’ve asked Gax when I had the chance.”

The corners of Drax’s mouth tightened. “I could ask him.”

“Would you kill him after?”

“Yes.”

“Then, no.”

Drax’s eyes were full of disappointment. Rocket sometimes thought that he wanted to kill Gax almost as much as he wanted to kill Thanos. “Why don’t you want him dead?”

“’Cause I don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t.”

“What changed?”

That made him think. What _had_ changed? Thinking it through, he finally found the starting point that had changed his feelings. “Findin’ that tracker he broke changed things. I guess…it does change things knowing what happened to him. It doesn’t mean I’m okay with it. I’m not and I’ll never forgive him for the things he did to me and what he did to my mom. It’s…it’s unforgivable, right?”

“Right.”

“I don’t know what the hell went on with him and Kylam. I know he fought like hell for fifteen days, because he didn’t want to be useful to the asshole who killed his parents. What actually _happened_ on the ship, what it was like being raised by that son of a bitch…I don’t know. I didn’t ask ‘cause I knew it wasn’t good. As bad as how he raised me, maybe even a little worse, ‘cause you wouldn’t believe how much Kylam hated Gax’s father for playin’ around with his wife.”

“I would. I know what he’s done to repair his sense of self-importance.”

“Yeah, that’s it. I mean…” Supporting himself on his elbows, Rocket looked at Drax, meeting his eyes. “The only reason Gax ended up like he did was because Kylam needed him for a punching bag. For eight years. And he didn’t have any hope, not like I did. I guess I…I understand why he’s a dickbag now. He got wired wrong, same as me.” He thought about how close he’d come to blowing the Aakonian’s brains out with the now useless blaster. “When I woke up in that bed, in that place, I knew he was somewhere, alive. I could smell him on me.”

“Did it frighten you?”

“At first it did.” He’d shaken so hard that the entire bed had trembled with him. “Then I started thinkin’ properly. I wasn’t hurt, aside from how I’d normally feel after a crashland. He wasn’t standing over me. I wasn’t tied down. So, I thought; _‘Okay, here’s your chance. This is your shot at ending him.’_. So I got to the pod and found the blaster and looked through all the rooms. I found him not far from where I’d woke up. He was scoopin’ his worst eye out with a hot spoon.”

Drax sounded both quizzical and mildly horrified. “Why?”

“Think it was so he could see me better and know how hurt I actually was.” Quickly, so Drax wouldn’t start panicking over him, Rocket added; “Which I wasn’t. You’d think of all people, he’d know how tough I am. Anyway, he put a prosthetic in his socket and turned his head and saw me.”

“What did he do?”

“Do? Nothin’. He just stood there, lookin’ at me. I kept starin’ at him, trying to find the scumbag I hated so much, but he wasn’t there. All I could see was this guy. I thought maybe I was imagining him, but then he started talkin’.” Quietly, Rocket said; “Can’t believe it, but I forgot his voice. Hearin’ him…I didn’t know if I should be more scared or mad.”

“What did he tell you?”

“He said; _‘What I did to you was evil, wasn’t it?’_.” Rocket brushed his hand over his snout to rid an itch and rested his jaw on its palm. “All I wanted to do was shoot him in the head. Had my fingers on the trigger, but…I couldn’t. And it wasn’t because of the imprint, neither. He could’ve hurt me, if he’d wanted, the opportunity was right there and he didn’t take it. When I was a kid, he didn’t have that kind of self-control. He’s changed.” The words felt strange. They didn’t feel right, but they were.

“He hurt you.”

“I’ve hurt people, too, Drax. Sure, it was because of him, how he treated me, but look what he had. I know you never met Kylam, but I did. When I was a kid, Gax used to say he could be a hell of a lot worse and I thought he was bullshittin’ me, but he wasn’t. Honestly, if it meant gettin’ away from that, I’d go against whatever morals I have left too. I can’t forgive him for killing my mom and my sister. I can’t forgive him for beating the shit out of me every time he saw me. But I can forgive him the other stuff. I can understand the other stuff. At least he never hated any part of me. You know what the really sad part is?”

“What’s the really sad part?”

“When I was born, he took one look at me and got – as he called it – emotionally attached. When he first told me, I thought he was saying it was love, that he loved me like every dad loves their kid, but it wasn’t. He didn’t. ‘Cause he couldn’t put me first without risking his freedom. It’s fuckin’ sad. He puts me first now and it’s nice, but it’s too late. I have you. You’re everything I wanted him to be. Guess you can have second chances in life after all.”

“It seems so.” Drax’s hand cupped around the back of his head and he squeezed Rocket close to him, a little tighter than he ordinarily liked. But, what the hell, these were weird enough times. What was a tight hug here and there? “It does appear so.”

“Bet you never thought you’d see me again. Sorry if I scared you.”

“There’s no ‘if’. It did frighten me, not being able to find you. But, you were trying to protect someone you love and that is nothing to apologise for, so I am not able to accept your apology.”

“Love is a strong word.” Rocket muttered, but he knew it was the right one. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

“Of course.”

“What about the night after?”

“You can stay with me for every night for the rest of our lives if you wish.” Drax loosened his hold, to Rocket’s relief. Sometimes he suspected that the man didn’t know his own strength. “I know sleep will be difficult for a time. Your dreams may be stressful, but I will be there for as long as you need me. However long it takes.”

Rocket pushed his head against Drax’s shoulder. He was still wary of sleep, but felt safer, in the knowledge that whatever horrors his mind showed him, he would have his dad around when he woke up.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylam discovers that one of his slaves has not been loyal. Mantis makes a valiant offer. Lylla gets a call.

**HALFWORLD**

Worry did not affect the warlord. If it did, he buried it under a layer of reason and refused to think of it until whatever issue had found him was resolved.

He was almost worried now.

Concerned, certainly. The three slaves he’d sent to the abandoned laboratory had not been answering the calls on their pod. Either he was being ignored - which would be their doom – or something had happened.   
Nobody else knew of his plans. The empress of Hala’s largest province had been only too glad to sell the planet for the vast sum he’d offered. A chance for her province to pay off its numerous debts in exchange for the planet, its contents and her complete silence. Aside from her, only he and a handful knew of what he wanted. His first weapon, Fifteen, and his three gladiators.

Perhaps he should have installed cameras in their eyes. At least then he could see what was happening.

Touching the small red button on the summit of the shift, he pressed down lightly and was given a glimpse of red skies as the ship he was in turned its nose toward them in its descent. He would find out very soon what had happened when his slaves had arrived here.

Almost immediately, the smell of death hit him. He closed his eyes, savouring its scent. There were dead people nearby, but also something acrid, something familiar. His eyelids flared and he covered them with his fingertips. There was no mistaking that scent of crisped flesh, yet he knew his slaves would never seriously harm one another. Following his nose, he walked past a bloodied patch of grass and stopped to look at it. This was where the death scent was most prominent. More than one had died here and there were darkened colours staining the grass that did not come from the slaves he’d known were here. So, someone had come here. Who? He would find out later, the warlord decided. Turning away from the bloodstained grass, he scanned his eyes over the vast land before them. Against the green-grey sea, his eyes picked out a dark silhouette, the movement of someone beside two prone shapes. “There you are.” After several striding steps, he frowned as what he thought was an Aakonian turned out to be Kylorian. “Una!” He called. “Una, come to me!”

For the first time since the very early days, Una did not respond to his orders.

Angered, that he had been forced to come onworld only to be ignored by one of his slaves, the warlord slammed his feet against the ground as he stormed to the Kylorian. “Una!” As he got within striking distance, he became aware of the heat smell. How he hadn’t immediately realised the strength of it, he couldn’t begin to guess. He stopped where he stood and looked, properly, at his slave. Una was kneeling beside his brothers. Half of Wylis’ skull was burnt from his face, his eyeball melted down the cheekbone. Klen’s weak-spot had been attacked, burnt down to the neck, so the warlord could see several of his vertebrae. The warlord felt a pulse quickening in his eyelids. Ignoring it, he grabbed the back of Una’s shirt and dragged him away from Klen and Wylis. When he released Una, he dropped to the ground. The Kylorian’s knees were weakened, telling the warlord that he had cowered by the bodies of his slave-brothers since they’d died. Violet eyes peered at him through a veil of water. “Why did you not tell me what happened here?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” When he didn’t receive an answer, he reached down, twisting his fingers into the Kylorian’s hair before pulling him up so his toes barely reached the ground. _“Why not?”_

Una’s hands grabbed his wrist in a wasted effort to support himself and relieve the pain in his scalp. “Master, I couldn’t!”

Angered, the Kree lowered him so his feet were on the ground and then lifted again. He repeated it, not stopping even when chunks of hair were torn from the Kylorian’s scalp. “This all stops when you obey me. You’ve been mine for almost twenty years, so you should know this.”

“I do! Master, please, stop. Have mercy, please!”

“This _is_ mercy, compared with what I’ll do if you don’t tell me what I want to know.” To prove his point, he yanked Una’s hair, to the sound of screaming. “Why didn’t you tell me what happened here? Are you trying to sabotage me? Are you not loyal?”

“No! I wouldn’t sabotage _you_. I wouldn’t. I’m _loyal_ , Master.”

Knowing that a confession wasn’t far, the warlord placed the Kylorian on his feet and leaned in close. “Then prove it, boy.”

“Fifteen burned them.”

The warlord’s eyes drifted to the body of the Moloid. The sight of his charred skull made his flesh tingle. He frowned. Like anyone, Fifteen had been drawn to the one slave who looked similar. It was understandable, to look for familiarity in a strange place and the familiarity had been found in Wylis. That was what the warlord couldn’t understand. A face wound was personal. It meant hate, anger.

_Protection._

The warlord let his slave drop to the ground. He let his eyelids lower to ease their pains. “Why?”

“I don’t know. He ran from us, when I caught up, he’d killed Klen. I couldn’t do anything.”

“Where is my weapon?”

“Fifteen said he killed it.”

The warlord let his eyes close and laughed softly. “You never used to believe lies so easily.” He opened his eyes, against the flare that rose in the lids, and stared at his slave. “The weapon is certainly not dead by his hands. Still, it doesn’t matter. I will find it soon enough. Where is Fifteen?”

There was a silence the warlord didn’t like. The Kylorian bowed his head. “Ravagers.”

“You didn’t think to follow them or even warn me?”

The Kylorian’s voice was dry. “You didn’t see what he _did.”_

The warlord bent his knees so he crouched beside him. “You know of how my beloved betrayed me all those decades ago. Here is something you do not. When the Aakonians informed me where that ungrateful whore had hidden herself, I hunted them down. I found their dwelling, I entered. I searched for her. And that was when Fifteen’s father jumped onto my shoulders and attempted to burn my eyes out. I did not see what Fifteen did, but I do know how it feels to be burned.” He pointed at the two corpses. “They came here to retrieve your brother for me. They gave their lives in their efforts. And because of you, they may have died needlessly. You have made finding your brother a great deal harder than it needed to be. You’ve sabotaged me, whether you intended to or not.”

The Kylorian’s violet, glassy eyes looked up from the ground. “Will you kill me now?”

“Your task was to bring me Fifteen and you have chosen to ignore it. Fear, is it?” When he was given a light nod in answer, he huffed out contemptuously. “Up. Return to the _Darkwing_ with me. From there, I will proceed.” Coldly, he added; “I have no use for a slave controlled by his own fears.”

* * *

**SPACE**   
_The Jotarasitahn_

“Hang on. How did you get out the cell?”

It was the sixth time he’d been interrupted by somebody wanting details and he was starting to get annoyed. “There were some narrow vents I squeezed into. Anyway, I dropped into this control room and took a guy’s blaster off him. I thought it would be nice and easy after that, but it wasn’t. I found the Darkwing’s podbay and there was Kylam, already there.”

“How did Kylam know you’d got out?” It was Gamora this time. She’d not asked him many questions, maybe picking up on his growing irritation at so many interruptions. She must’ve understood that he wanted to tell the story and be done with it, not picking through details.

Rocket had wondered that himself, several times. How _had_ he known? There were no cameras, no surveillance equipment, no anything that meant he would have immediately alerted Kylam to his movement. “I have no idea. Maybe there were sensors in the vents, maybe he had bugs in the walls. Maybe Gax programmed me to always find ways out, I don’t know. It don’t matter how he knew, he was there to remotely lock me in the pod and send me back to the place I was born. I’ve never travelled that fast before. It would’ve been kinda fun if it, you know, wasn’t. When I crashlanded, I thought I was dead for sure.”

“Was… _he_ there at the time?” Kraglin wanted to know.

“No, he was inside and heard the crash. Came out to investigate and there I was.” Rocket clacked the sharp ends of his claws on the table. “And that’s it. The end. There’s more important things for us to worry about right now than him. Worse things. Kylam’s out there. Losing Gax ain’t gonna stop him from gettin’ what he wants. Problem is, I have no clue how to stop him. I don’t know anything about Uplifts across the universe. I don’t know how rare we are. I don’t know if it’s actually that difficult to make one or what. I don’t know if Kylam might decide to just get a new technician. I don’t know anything about Kylam, what he has planned if things go wrong, where he hides.” Rocket paused to breathe. “I don’t know anything. Gax might, but…I don’t know how to ask him. I don’t think I got it in me to listen to him talking shop.”

“We’ll ask.” Quill said, as if it was no problem.

Rocket appreciated it, he really did. It meant a lot that they were willing to help with his problem and didn’t mock him for his reluctance to ask his creator, but there were several issues. “Two of you,” he said, pointing a finger at Drax, then at Kraglin, “would kill him on sight.”

“Sure, they would, but _I_ have some self-control.” Quill defended himself.

“Some, not a lot. You’d yell at him and then shoot him. Not that I can really blame you.” Looking at Gamora, Rocket met her eyes. “You’re tough as hell and have the best self-control of anyone I know.”

Gamora looked surprised, almost touched. It was rare for him to give out compliments. “Thank you.”

“But you’d take his head off as soon as you got the answers, so not you.”

“At least I would give him a quick, clean kill.” Gamora muttered, hand on Godslayer’s hilt. “I don’t know, Rocket. Maybe one of the Ravagers-”

“You forgot me.” Mantis said, quiet but clear. “Let _me_ ask.”

Rocket took in her delicate features, her slender body. Fragile as she looked, she was physically as tough as any of them. Add in her empathetic powers and she was probably the strongest of them all. If she ever went bad, she would be among the galaxy’s worst. But she was kind and she was gentle and she was soft. Not that being those things ever made her incapable of defending herself or other people. The opposite, in fact. “I don’t know, Mantis. You’d be hearing some bad stuff.”

She looked at him, long eyelashes casting a shadow over her cheekbones. “I’ve felt some bad stuff. Hearing about it is no worse.”

“What if he tries to attack you?”

Mantis held up her hands as if it was obvious. “I make him go to sleep? If I can’t do that, I _can_ fight. I’m not just a petty face.”

“Pretty face.” Quill corrected.

“Pretty face.” Mantis repeated.

Gamora touched her elbow. “Are you sure about this? He’s violent and quick-tempered. One wrong word and he could snap.”

“Not just that. He’s insane. Literally.” Rocket curled his fingers against his palm. “He sees his brother’s ghost, talks to it, and apparently it talks back.”

Mantis’ eyes widened. “Did _you_ see the ghost?”

“No, I didn’t see the ghost, because it ain’t real. It’s in his head. He knows that, but…I dunno. I guess he had to have someone to talk to for the past seven years, even if it was an illusion. So, if you go in there and he’s talking to the wall, that’s why.”

“What should I do if he’s talking to the ghost?”

“Remind him that it freaks me out when he talks to the dead. He should stop.”

Quill lowered his head, shaking it a little from side to side. He lifted his eyes to look at him. “Rock, I wonder if Doctor Faiix might be able to give you some therapy.”

“Now, Pete. You know how I feel about the ‘T’ word.”

“It wouldn’t be that bad. Just hanging out with Faiix and talking about your feelings.”

“I don’t like talking about my feelings with you people, let alone a doctor. Anyway, I don’t need therapy. I’m fine.” Ignoring Drax’s slight look of disbelief, he looked back at Mantis. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

She nodded. Even seemed to roll her eyes a little. “If you could survive Kylam, I can live through a conversation with the man who made you.”

Rocket shrugged. “I guess you have a point.”

“We’ll be right outside if you need us.” Gamora promised her. She turned her attention back to Rocket. “It won’t be easy to stop Kylam by ourselves. He’s more powerful than Ronan was.”

“Then we’re gonna need allies.” Rocket said. “And I know where to start.”

* * *

**XANDAR**

On days like this, Lylla was reminded of her true home. Bright blue skies, the scent of grass, the rush of water closeby. It brought her a strange sense of both comfort and sadness, recalling a time that had been happy and simple. No torture, no cruelty. Just life.

Not that she was unhappy with her life now. Just unhappy with what it had taken to get to it.

Moving away from the window, she eyed the calling screen longingly. Where the hell was Rocket? Hadn’t he been found yet? Was he alive? It maddened her to not know. Slipping her hand into her pouch, Lylla pulled out the casing of a bullet he’d made in her old workshop. She’d had no need of it, but it had been impossible to look into his large brown eyes and refuse the gift he’d made for her. Dulled by age, it was nonetheless one of her most prized possessions. She cherished it almost as much as she did her favourite rock.

God, had it really been seven years?

Lost in her own thoughts, she almost missed the light from the calling screen. Hurriedly, she pressed her palm to it, desperate not to miss the call. Relief filled every cell in her body. _‘Thank God,’_ she thought. She didn’t say it, though. She knew he wouldn’t appreciate the fuss. “I see you finally decided to give your mom a call.”

He laughed, the reason for all her white hairs, the reason for the warmth in her heart. “You’re not gonna get all soft now and say you _missed_ me, are you?”

 _‘Oh, only with all my heart.’_ “Of course not.” Grabbing her robe, she let the violet folds drape over the jumpsuit she wore when welding. “You only ever call me when you want something. What is it?”

“I wanted to see you. And, yeah, I got a favour to ask. We’re gonna be dropping in to Xandar for a meeting with Nova.” His face was entirely serious. “How much room do you got in your place?”

 _‘Nobody ever told me that_ this _was a part of unplanned motherhood,’_ Lylla thought. Not that she was about to refuse. “Enough for you all, I think. It is pretty large, but everything is low down for my height.”

“Good.” Rocket said and for a second, the ‘nothing-happened-to-me’ act fell away and she could see just how the past few weeks had been for him. “I really need to see you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How I missed my favourite otter mom.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mantis gets some useful information. Kylam comes up with a plan.

**SPACE**

_The Jotarasitahn_

She expected to be followed in, but sure enough, her family kept their word and trusted her. She looked around the medbay. It wasn’t a large room, but it was spacious, enough to hold multiple people. It was just her and Rocket’s science man, but despite the stories, she couldn’t see him as a threat. For one thing, he was still exhausted from using his defence, weakened from using what must have been every piece of energy he possessed. For another, he was asleep. Gamora’s voice came to her mind. _‘Don’t assume it’s safe.’_ It was better to listen to her. Nobody knew danger as well as Gamora. Stepping closer, she stood by his side, looking at him. He was on his side, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. Even in sleep, he looked anything but restful.

Maybe now was the time to wake him up.

Placing a hand on the mattress for support, she was just reaching out to his shoulder when the warmth under her palms made her stop. The thin padding wasn’t hot, but it was definitely warm. Taking in a breath, she put her hand on his shoulder which was uncomfortably hot, but not enough that she felt the need to snatch it back. “Wake,” she whispered.

He awoke in milliseconds, but alertness didn’t come for a minute. That was the one issue with waking somebody – it didn’t always mean they were full of energy and ready to talk. In this case, she was relieved. It meant her chances of being attacked were low. He pulled himself up, letting his eyes shut as the blood rushed to his head. Then he looked at her out of mismatched eyes, one organic and the other made of machine.

Now came the part she felt clueless about. Meeting new people had always been difficult for her. Ego had taught her to just be ‘pleasant’ and she had always done just that, but for all of her life, greetings had been done for her. _‘I can do this,’_ she thought. _‘I just need to start from the beginning.’_ “Hi.”

“…Are you real?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just making sure.”

Ah. He thought she was another ghost. “I’m Mantis.”

“My name’s Gakhsi.”

Good, good. Things were going good. “Um…I was wondering if you could help with something.”

Still looking at her like she was a ghost, Gakhsi asked; “What is it?”

“I need to know some things about Kylam.”

His mouth tightened. “Like what?”

“Anything that might help us stop him.”

Gakshi turned his head away. “You’re better off staying away from him. Far away. As for stopping him…it’s impossible. He’s more powerful than you think.”

“He wants Rocket for something bad, right?”

The Aakonian looked at her again. “Yeah. He does.”

“If he’s going to hunt you, he’s going to hunt Rocket as well. At least this way, there might be a chance to stop it. You don’t want him to get Rocket _again,_ right?”

“Not really.” He drew up his legs, crossing them. “What do you want to know?”

Glad to finally have his permission to ask, Mantis copied the way he was sitting. “I don’t know where to start.”

Something like a smile flashed across his features. “The beginning’s a good place.”

“Heh. Um…Why does he want Uplifts to fight his battles?”

“Because nobody expects a cute little animal to pull out a gun or a knife and murder them. That’s one reason. The other is that animals are generally faster than us, stronger. Smarter, even. Humanoids like us just happen to be born with the capability to do a little more with what we’ve got. Imagine what some animals could do if they had that capability.”

“Are Uplifts rare?”

There was a pause as the Aakonian thought about it. “I would say that they’re uncommon,” he said after a couple of minutes. “Yeah, uncommon. They get made in a lot of places around the universe, but the universe is so huge that it’s rare to actually see them.”

“How hard is it to make them?”

Gakhsi shrugged. She could see the drained look in his eyes from the regret. “The…surgeries are always dangerous and even if you really plan ahead, something will always go wrong. That’s about the hardest part and it means the difference between life and death a lot of the time.”

Mantis wondered how many times Rocket had almost died when undergoing his surgeries. _‘Better off not knowing,’_ she decided. “Why did he ask you to do it?”

He looked at her, almost meeting her eyes. “Because he had faith in me. I used to hack the lock on the armour-tech’s door to make my dogs prosthetic limbs. You see, Kylam wouldn’t buy them legs, he preferred to just kill the injured dogs and buy me new ones to train because it was cheaper. I made them look very realistic and for two years, he had no idea that the reason for the armour-tech’s supplies mysteriously disappearing was due to me. Anyway, he eventually had cameras installed and I got caught.” He grimaced at the memory and continued; “A month later, the day I turned sixteen, he came to tell me of his proposition. Make him a weapon, even just one, and he would free me. I must’ve impressed him.”

“The dogs were lucky you cared about them so much.”

“Yeah, well. I raised them from puppies, so…I couldn’t let them die just because they had a little problem. I mean, he didn’t kill me when Aaron chewed my leg up so badly it had to get amputated. I got a prosthetic. Why couldn’t the dogs have them too?”

Looking at his legs, Mantis asked; “You have an amputated leg?”

“Yeah.” Pulling at his right pants’ leg, he showed her what was definitely a prosthetic limb, though the once silver metal was discoloured by age and time. How he'd kept it a secret from Rocket she couldn't begin to guess. He could almost sense when people had prosthetics. “I got it for the third anniversary of my abduction."

“What happened to your first leg?”

“There was a beta male I called Aaron who decided he wanted to eat me. I beat him, but he ate part of my foot, so that had to go and then his teeth had gone through an artery and it wouldn’t stop bleeding, so in the end, the whole leg got taken off.” He tapped the ankle of the leg so it made a hollow noise and then pulled his pants’ leg back to cover it. “Could’ve been worse. Got any other questions for me?”

“Does…What will Kylam do if he can’t find you? Are there any other people who he might turn to for his weapons?”

“He never told me of any other technicians. But, considering what he did to Hank, I think he’s going to try and discourage other people from making Uplifts. That way, there’s less competition, none of his enemies will think to do the same if they’re too scared of the consequences.”

“Mm.” Mantis nodded, remembering the sight of Hank’s handless wrists. “Does Kylam stay on any other ship, apart from the Darkwing?”

“He has two warships. The Darkwing is more for…travel purposes. It’s fully equipped, but has weakspots. His real warship is called Ilsa. He named it after his wife. Unlike her, it has no weaknesses.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Mantis straightened her back to rid herself of a growing cramp in her spine. “Is there anywhere else he might stay?”

“If he’s not on his ships, he will be back in Hala. If he’s not in those places, I don’t know where he might be.”

“Does he have any weaknesses?”

“Yeah, he’s a dick. I can tell you from personal experience, that’s weakness enough.”

“Anything else?” Mantis asked.

“I don’t know. He has sensitive eyelids, he doesn’t like it when you talk about his wife or his…” Gakhsi stopped and looked down. He looked almost afraid. “His daughter’s a big weakness of his. She died in a battle near Earth around 20 years ago. He also _really_ gets upset if you mention my papa’s name, so don’t. That’s about all I can think of.”

It wasn’t much, but it was all she’d been told to ask. Getting to her feet, she stretched out her legs. “Thanks.”

“Mantis?”

“Yes?”

“Is Rocket…okay?”

“It’s hard to tell. He doesn’t like to talk about his feelings.”

“That would be my fault.” Gakhsi said. “Look, I know it’s hypocritical, coming from me, but _please_ send other people to deal with Kylam. I don’t want Rocket back in his hands.”

“He won’t. We’ll be more careful this time. And we’re more prepared.”

“Reconsider. Please.”

“You need to have more faith in Rocket.”

“I have a lot of faith in him. But Kylam has been as powerful as he is for over _a hundred years._ It’s going to take more than…what is it, seven of you people to take him down.”

“I said, we’re going to be more careful.” Mantis repeated. “Trust us.”

“How can I? You left him behind.”

Interlocking her fingers, Mantis lowered her eyes to her feet. “We came back. We always come back for each other. It’s what family does.”

He sighed out. “Sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

“It’s okay. You were in a deep sleep when I came in. You’re just tired.”

“I’ll live. Is that it? Nothing else you want to ask?”

“Actually, I had a question. It’s not about Kylam though. It’s about you.”

Looking at her suspiciously, he asked; “What’s that?”

“Is your ghost here right now?”

 _“My_ ghost?”

“Yeah. Rocket told me about him.”

Understanding showed in his eyes. “Oh, _him._ Right.” He nodded his head. “Yeah, he’s here.” He pointed over her shoulder. Quietly, he whispered. _“He’s behind you.”_

Unnerved, Mantis slowly turned around. There was nothing. “I don’t see-” Something soft slammed into her shoulder and she yelped, throwing a fist out. It connected with something almost solid and she put her hands over her eyes so she wouldn’t have to face an angered spirit. “Did I get him? Gakhsi? Did I get him?”

“Sort of,” he rasped out.

Sliding her hands down to her cheeks, she blinked at him. He was on the floor, dragging himself to his feet using the bedguard. “Did you play a joke on me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh!” A smile came to her and she chuckled. Jokes were still things she was getting used to, but she often managed to find the humour in them. “It’s very funny.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

Between laughs, she asked; “Why does your voice sound weird?”

“You punched me in the larynx.”

For some reason, that made it even funnier, even though she knew it wasn’t nice to hit people in the throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to!”

“No, it was a good hit and I had it coming. It’s fine.”

Forcing herself to calm down, she cleared her throat. “Is there really a ghost?”

“No. Just in my mind.” He half-shrugged. “We have a complex relationship.”

She looked around the empty room. “Will you be okay if I leave you with him?”

“Don’t worry about me.” Gakhsi said. “I’ve lived with worse things than ghosts.”

* * *

**SPACE**

_The Darkwing_

Now he was back on the ship, anger coursed through his veins. Anger at the entire Aakonian race for their defence, anger at the slave who had lived while his brothers died, anger at the one who’d fled and sheer _rage_ at the Ravagers. The weapon. The Guardians. All of them.

Sitting at a desk of clouded black glass, he pulled up a screen, flicking through its pages until he found what he was looking for. Sometimes seeing her helped.

Ilsa’s face, cerulean in colour, looked into his. Her eyes, bright and yellow like two glowing suns stared into his, unmoving. The only photo he had of her. Minn-Erva had it saved to one of her devices, loving her mother in spite of the betrayal. Ilsa had abandoned them both for her lover and the son in her belly, yet…well, he couldn’t blame his daughter for loving her mother. He’d made that mistake too, once.

Now he looked at his wife, her cold beauty. “This is your doing,” he told her image. “I would never have even known of that boy if it weren’t for you. Now I’ve lost him. And the weapon.”

The weapon was findable. More than that. It would almost certainly try to find him, friends in tow, in what would be an ill-fated attempt to kill him. So be it. He would have more. Better. No, the weapon wasn’t of such great importance. It was better than he’d thought it would be, but it wasn’t finished.

He just had to find Fifteen. 

Not for the first time, he wished he’d implanted an extra tracker into the Aakonian’s leg. The external one worn around his neck had been removed when he’d been sent away to Halfworld. The internal one he’d made the mistake of removing. The result being that he had no way of tracking him.

He did have a way of finding him. Just a not-so-simple matter of finding the number for each of the 99 Ravager factions and asking for the captain.

 _Ninety-nine_ factions of the scum. How many were there? A hundred thousand? A _million?_ It made him want to tear his hair out. Why were there so many factions? So many Ravagers. It was ridiculous. If he had his way, the Star-Force would have specialised teams solely for the purpose of exterminating every Ravager there was.

Rubbing his forehead with his fingertips, he forced himself to clear his mind. Stress did nothing for logical thinking. There had to be a simpler way. Who was the worst nuisance of all the Ravagers? Who had taken away Il-Sahn’s lover? Who had always been the ones to steal away slaves? Who did every slave-owner in each of the Kree provinces despise?

“Starhawk,” the warlord said quietly. He pushed away the image of his wife, finding the directory. He would use it to search for their ship’s number. A shame he couldn’t find the ship with it. But it was all he had, so he would need to make do. Pressing on a panel to his right, he was presented with a row of tiny remotes. They were small, an inch in width and length and each had two buttons – in red and green. Pushing the red button would lock the medicine container and when it was locked, only the green button would unlock it. He did the mathematics in his head. No doubt Fifteen would have taken one of the pills as soon as he'd been given the container. It had been almost two days, to the hour. Almost.

It would be interesting, the warlord thought as he pressed the scarlet circle, to see how long it would take the Ravagers to return what they had stolen.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylam makes an offer to Aleta and Stakar.

**SPACE**

_The Jotarasitahn_

There was a kind of dead silence as they made their way up to the control deck to find the co-captains of the _Jotarasitahn._ It made Rocket slow his pace, looking around. There were no Ravagers in sight. “Where is everybody?”

Quill was unbothered. “They’ll show up. Wait ‘til you see the size of the deck. It’s huge.”

“So was Kylam’s.” Rocket muttered, but the feeling that something wasn’t right didn’t leave him. If anything it grew, and by the time they got to the deck (admittedly big, but nothing special), he realised why it was so silent. “Shit.” Moving past Gamora’s legs, he skirted around the cluster of Ravagers to the calling screen. “No way has he found us this quickly.”

“He’s suspecting us.” Stakar said, eyes fixed on Kylam’s image. “This always happens when you rescue a slave. Their captors instantly demand them back and make enormous offers or some nightmare-inducing threats.”

“What’s he offerin’?”

“We haven’t picked up yet.” Aleta said. Her arms were folded over her chest, eyes unimpressed. “Never pick up immediately when you’re suspected of something. It makes you look guilty, like you have something to prove.”

“But you _are_ guilty.” At the Arcturan’s side-eyed glare, Rocket explained himself. “You know what I mean. At this moment in time, you have my creator – _his_ _slave_ \- slung out in your medbay.”

She nodded. “Yeah, but we’re not gonna tell Kylam that. For one thing, he’d send all his friends after us and for another thing…” She grinned, showing a set of disarmingly white teeth. “Well, it’s fun to mess with assholes like him.”

“How are you gonna mess with him?”

“Watch.” Nodding to her husband, Aleta asked; “You ready or what?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Stakar shifted a little and reached for the ‘answer’ button. “Before I press this, you’re all okay with hearing this prick speak, right?” Once given the consent of those present, he nodded and hit the button.

Rocket could feel Drax’s presence behind him. And Quill’s and Gamora’s, until all members of his family were with him as he looked up at the Kree who’d ordered his existence. Who’d denied him necessities. Who’d caused all the bad things to happen.

Kylam didn’t seem to notice him or anybody else, apart from Aleta and Stakar. They were the ones he wanted to talk to and he ignored the rest. “Where is my slave?”

“You have slaves?” Aleta asked, adopting a tone of great surprise.

Anger flashed in his eyes. “Don’t play games with me. You know _well_ which slave I am referring to and I am sure you know why it is so important I reclaim him.” His eyes slid to Rocket and he smiled coldly. “Where’s your father, little weapon?”

“Last I saw of him, he was still on the planet you abandoned him on.” Rocket said. It wasn’t a lie. “You should keep a better eye on people. That’s two things you’ve gone and lost in two weeks. Must be real embarrassing for you, you dumbass blue-balled fuck.”

Kylam gave him the kind of look that promised him he would be paying for that if they ever met again. “Starhawk, I need him. And he needs me. He doesn’t do so well on spacecrafts.”

“We only went down to get this one.” Aleta said, pointing her thumb at Rocket. “If you lost that kid, it’s on you.”

“I happened to notice a bullet wound in the Moloid’s leg.” Kylam told her. “Not only that, bloodstains on the grass. Did he slay your Ravagers? I expect he did. I sent him and two of his brothers down to find Fifteen for me.” His voice was quieter. “I know what he did to the Moloid and the Tribbitite. I know _intimately.”_

“I shot the Moloid.” Aleta admitted freely. She shrugged at the surprised expression on his face. “You know how it is. Someone kills one of your own, so you neutralise the threat. I shot the Moloid, we grabbed Rocket and then we all hauled ass. I didn’t see any other slaves down there.” She jabbed Stakar’s shoulder with a pointed finger. “Did you?”

If Aleta’s poke hurt him, it didn’t show. “No. Just the one.”

“You’re lying to me.” Kylam said. His voice was mild, but the look in his eyes was stormy. “And they’re not even good lies. Do you remember the Kylorian? The one Fifteen allowed to live?”

Simultaneously, both Aleta and Stakar rolled their shoulders in a shrug.

“Mm. He told me what happened. My boys don’t lie to me. They always tell the truth. I make sure of it. When I questioned him, he told me that Fifteen had killed the Moloid and the Tribbitite. Burnt their flesh away. I’m not sure why, but…” His eyes went back to Rocket. His mouth twisted. “I can certainly _guess.”_

“You better search that planet real hard.” Stakar muttered. “It’s not a big world, so it shouldn’t take long.”

“The world is devoid of my slave. Starhawk, I _know_ he’s with you. You are in my territory, with my stolen property onboard your ship. I could have you wiped out before the day’s end, but instead I am giving you a choice. We can resolve this matter peacefully or we can resolve it violently. I have wealth. I am willing to give you any number of credits for him. Billions. I could even stretch to a trillion units in exchange for him being returned to me. Alive, of course.”

 _A trillion units._ Rocket’s head felt light at the size of those numbers. Then he felt angry. All those agonising procedures, the hunger, when this asshole had all this money to burn. A thousand units here or there would have made his early life so much easier, so much better…and now he had to watch Stakar and Aleta decline a trillion units just to avoid Gax going back into slavery. Because god knew the kinds of atrocities Kylam would have him doing if they ever got reunited.

“Shame we don’t have the kid. Or I might just consider taking you up on that offer.”

“It would be better for you in many ways to return him to me. Not just the money. You know what he did to his brothers. He’s dangerous.”

“You don’t know that it was him. People burn themselves on all kinds of shit. Maybe they got struck by lightning.”

 _“Lightning.”_ Kylam turned his back so all that could be seen of him was a single, black-blue braid cascading over his spine. His arms bent outwards. “You think I don’t know all there is to know about the Aakonian race, having raised one boy half of that world and another fullblooded? You think their father released his sons to me so easily?” He lowered his arms and turned back to face them. The black warpaint was removed from across his eyes and vividly white scarring was etched into his blue skin. When he closed his eyes, deliberately slowly to blink, his eyelids were like pieces of fragile white tissue. “You think _wrong.”_

“We don’t have the kid.” Aleta told him unflinchingly. “And put your makeup back on. You’ll scare my crew.” When Stakar cleared his throat, she added; “Our crew.”

“All this denial will only lead to harm. As I said, he doesn’t do very well in space. Especially now,” he held up a square with two circles – one red and one green. The red one was illuminated. “Now I’ve stopped the medication for his anxiety.”

If the revelation meant anything to the co-captains, they didn’t show it. “You disabled it for nothin’, ‘cause he ain’t here.” Stakar waved a hand at the assembled crew. “You see him? We never hid a rescue before, so why in hell would we start now?”

“Yeah, if we had him, we’d be taunting you. You know that.”

“I have heard that you engage in childish mockery when you steal slaves from their owners.”

“There you go.”

“I’m going to be searching for you.” Kylam warned. “Not just me, but my allies as well. If you do happen to find him before I find you, the offer of money still stands. However, should I find him on your ship, I will personally execute your entire crew before your eyes in a unique manner for each Ravager. And then I will make the two of you watch the other die.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Stakar said drily and he leaned forward to disconnect the call. He looked at Aleta. _“Shit._ Why didn’t that little dumbass tell us he had drugs?”

“He’s been almost comatose for the past three days.”

 _“Almost._ You know, I thought he seemed pretty calm, considering the blind on that window won’t stay down.”

“I bet you a hundred units we go down there and he’s asleep.”

“Aleta, you know I don’t do positivity first thing in the morning. But I will take that bet.” Holding out his hand, he shook hers to seal their deal. “Okay. I’m gonna grab my mints and we’ll head down there and see if he’s having a nervous breakdown or not.”

“What’s his old guy candy gonna do?” Rocket asked, ignoring Stakar’s subsequent, less-than-polite hand gesture as the Ravager got to his feet and started looking through his jacket.

Aleta ran a hand through the tangles in her hair. “We might not be able to access his medication, but we can give him a placebo.” When he tilted his head at her, she breathed out softly. “I know it seems like a dick move, but if he overdoses – ‘cause I don’t know how much to give – it’s just another thing for me to have to live with. Giving somebody a correct dosage is hard, even if you know that person.” She narrowed her eyes a little in thought. “Now I think of it, that’s probably why he’s been so drowsy.” She sprang to her feet, turning in her husband’s direction. She looked back at them, dark eyes taking them in. “I hope you came up here to tell us that you’re ready to leave. It’s been nice seeing you, but shit’s getting serious.”

“We're going to leave tonight.” Gamora said. “We need to get to Xandar urgently.”

Aleta nodded. Her eyes flickered away from them. “We wanted to talk with you about that,” she said. “Get yourselves ready to leave and we’ll meet you on your ship.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not long now until the Guardians bid adieu to the Ravagers! But there's something Aleta and Stakar want them to do. Any guesses as to what it is?


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stakar and Aleta take steps in helping their bounty. Gakhsi remembers an old friend.

**FIFTEEN YEARS AGO  
** _The Darkwing  
1000km out of Oorg’s orbit_ _  
  
_

_“What are all these?” the Kree warlord demanded. In the grasp of his arm, Gakhsi stopped struggling against him. He looked at what Kylam was looking at. Children. He knew most of them. Half of them were in his class, a handful lived near where he did. Why were they here? They hadn’t done anything. But then, neither had he._

_“Entertainment.”_

_“What kind?”_

_The other Kree parted their group. There was a glass door leading to a glowing screen. Beyond that there was only the blackness of space. “We wanted to play a game with them.”_

_Kylam wasn’t swayed. At least not at this point. “You might have discussed this with me before you decided to indulge yourselves in this kind of thing.”_

_“You went down for one.”_

_“I went down for_ three.” _Kylam barked at them. He tightened his grip on Gakhsi’s arm. Then he sighed out harshly. “Still, I have no use for twenty of them. Do what you will.”_

* * *

_Current Day_  
**SPACE**  
_The Jotarasitahn_

“You better pay up.”

Aleta didn’t say anything, but shot her husband a dark look from the corner of her eye. “You would think about money, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m thinking a lot of things right now. Money’s somewhere at the bottom of the list.” He eyed the floor, taking in the objects scattered over it. Medical things. It told the story of what had happened in here before they’d arrived. Their bounty realised his drugs vessel wouldn’t open, tried to get into the medication unit to find something and when he couldn’t…that would have been the moment panic set in. Aleta had seen it all before. They both had.

Aleta looked at Stakar. He had always been the alleviating one, even when they’d been kids. She’d never been any good at calming people down, even when she’d become a mother, seeing people frightened or upset made her feel nothing but confusion. It wasn’t lack of empathy or refusing to care – her brain just didn’t know what to do. The only time she’d ever been of any help to anyone going through hell was when she found Lylla – and that had been through personal experience of what the Uplift had gone through. This was one of those things she struggled with.

“You are not with us at all, are you?” Stakar murmured. He wasn’t wrong. He was standing before the Aakonian, less than a metre from his curled-up form, and there was no sign that their bounty even knew he was there.

Together, they crouched down, trying to look into his face. His head was down, but they could just about make out his eyes, wide open at something only he could see. He gasped out a name; “Jhul.”

‘Who the hell is Jhul?’ Aleta wondered. The answer dawned on her as she glanced at Stakar. “I think I know why he isn’t with us.”

Stakar nodded, jaw set. “I think I do, too.”

* * *

**FIFTEEN YEARS AGO  
** _The Darkwing  
1000km out of Oorg’s orbit_

_Jhul Falaan was the prettiest girl in their school. She didn’t wear the excessive eye makeup like the older kids trying to look like grownups, she didn’t wear piercings in her nose and eyebrows like the older kids trying to look tough. She was just pretty, with deep blue eyes like the lakes in summertime, the only piercings being her turquoise circles. The dark powder she wore on her eyelids used to look like a waterfly’s wings, but were smudged and mostly hidden by bruising._

_Right now, it didn’t matter that she was pretty and already thirteen years old, a teenager, nearly a grownup. She seemed to have forgotten how old she was. Her arms were clamped around Gakhsi, the pair of them shivering as they watched the slaughter continue. All he could do was hold onto her shirt, the fabric velvety smooth under his touch, with one hand because Kylam would not let him go._

_Jhul cried out, the sound full of terror, as the eighteenth went out, his severed feet floating after him. “I don’t want to go out alone,” she wailed._

_“I’ll go with you.” Gakhsi whispered, even though he really didn’t want to. “I promise.”_

_“They won’t let us.”_

_“They might.” He could see her point. The Kree were vicious, without any care. They’d torn through the eighteen others and laughed as they’d died. Cheers erupted each time somebody died. All except one. He looked up, even though it made him flinch to look at the man who’d murdered his father only hours before. “Please…let me go with her.”_

_Purple eyes flitted from him to Jhul. “Why do you want company, child?”_

_“I don’t want to go alone.”_

_“You’re saying you don’t wish to die by yourself.” Kylam said. “It’s an unfortunate truth that we all die by ourselves. It’s one of those things that you cannot share.”_

_“But we didn’t do anything.”_

_“Is it a law that only the guilty should suffer?” Kylam pulled Gakhsi, frowning when Jhul still held fast. “Release each other.”_

_“No.” Jhul whimpered. “No, please. Please, Gakhsi, you_ promised _you’d go with me.”_

_The blue-skinned Kree narrowed his luminous eyes. “This is what most people call a life lesson. Never make a promise you may not be able to keep.” And then he swapped Gakhsi to his other hand and backhanded Jhul so she landed, dazed, by the airlock. “Don’t cut this one. Throw her to the stars and we’ll see how long it takes for her to die uninjured.”_

_“No.” Gakhsi whispered. “Jhul.”_

_“Don’t be afraid, boy.” Kylam said. “I’m not going to throw you. You’re mine.”_

_The airlock closed and Jhul placed her hand on the thick glass. Her eyes were streaming, she must have known it was over, but she found Gakhsi and mouthed his name, still begging, still terrified of dying alone, still reminding him of the promise he'd made and was now about to break._

_“No. Jhul._ Jhul! _Don’t kill her, don’t throw her out, please!”_

_The bars of light behind her dimmed, showing the black of space and she drifted back, ice forming on her skin, freezing the liquid in her eyes so frozen teardrops floated around her like tiny diamonds and her tears turned to an ice river._

“Jhul!”

* * *

_Current Day_  
**SPACE**  
_The Jotarasitahn_

This was the _mother_ of anxiety attacks. Aleta might not have been the most comforting person, but she knew her way around an anxiety attack, even a big one. She didn’t know what particular memory had triggered it, but it wasn’t hard to tell that the name he’d mumbled had something to do with it.

At least he was back with them.

Making sure to give him space, she dropped to a crouch and said; “You’re safe here. Nothing bad is going to happen to you.”

He didn’t give any indication that he’d heard her, but he put his trembling hands over his bony chest. She could see his heartbeat stretching out his skin. “You’re not having a heart attack. Just breathing too quickly. Breathe in through your nose. Out with your mouth.” It took a _long_ time. She could see it in his eyes that he fully expected her to beat the shit out of him for taking so long, but gradually that look left him and even though he was still breathing quickly, at least he wasn’t in danger of giving himself a heart attack through sheer strain.

“Okay,” she said. “We have pills. Do you need them crushed?”

He shook his head exactly once.

“Good, because if you choke, one of us will have to give you the kiss of life.”

“Don’t say that. He’ll choke on purpose.”

“Huh.”

_‘At least we got a laugh outta you.’_ Aleta thought, edging back so Stakar could hand him one of the mints. “Start off with one and see how you feel after.”

The mint shot out between the Aakonian’s fingers and got lost in the mess he’d made. He blinked, eyes fixed as he started remembering what he’d done, and Stakar shook his head before he could get worked up again. “That mess can be fixed. We don’t worry about stuff that can be fixed. Open your mouth and I’ll throw one of these in there.”

For a heart-stopping moment, their bounty looked like he recognised the taste, but then the tension seeped away, although he hugged both knees to his chest defensively, wiping his tearstained cheeks dry on his shoulders.

“Better?”

He nodded to answer her question, still synchronising his breathing pattern. He kept looking at the floor, no doubt wondering why they weren’t pissed with him.

Well, neither could say they were happy he’d disorganised everything, made a huge mess _and_ melted the lock on the medication unit, but neither were asshole enough to be angry with someone who had been forced to rewatch something that never should have been seen. “You heard what Stakar said. This can be fixed. When you’re feeling a little more normal, organise them into piles. Liquids in one, pills in another, that way it’s not scattered everywhere.” And it would keep him busy for an hour or two. “We know it was an accident and it won’t happen again, right?”

This time, she got a shake of his head.

“I also know you’re not dumb enough to take medication you don’t need.”

The head-shake was a bit quicker this time. He looked very surprised when Stakar put the mints by him and pushed them away with a shaking hand.

“No, _you_ keep those.” Stakar insisted, even though Aleta knew they were one of his few indulgences. “They’re your meds, not mine. If you start feeling bad again, don’t hesitate to take another one.”

For several moments, he looked from one to the other, holding the white tub in both hands, Then he reached into his pocket and gave them the useless vessel. He’d clearly smashed the hell out of it before he tried ransacking the medication unit, to the extent both Ravagers doubted it would work if Kylam did decide to turn it back on.

“You can’t open this, can you? Oh, well.” Stakar turned it in his hands and passed it to Aleta so she could see the tiny printing. “You’ll find that one a lot easier to open.”

_‘God, Kylam. Resachylbate? Seriously? You would give him something highly addictive, wouldn’t you, you pious cuckold.’_ Aleta thought grimly, gripping the vessel tightly in her hand. “We’ll be back with you soon. Remember to make sure you’re breathing properly before you try anything.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say, but stood up and turned on her heel. Outside the medbay, she leaned against the wall, letting her eyes close. She could almost sense her husband’s presence. “Y’know, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that ‘why aren’t you beating the shit out of me right now’ look. They get so used to being tortured for things, usually little things that may not even be their fault…and then you come along and _don’t_ treat them like shit and it’s like you’re playing a cruel trick on them because they think it _is_. I can’t ever get used to it, Stakar. I really can’t.”

“Me neither.” Stakar said and when he kissed her forehead, she let him. “It was always the toughest thing, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, that and when they _did_ eventually do something wrong.”

“We’re only keeping him for two weeks.”

“Remind me what Mainframe did after her first week with us.”

“Well, that’s… _that’s_ different.”

“Don’t give me that shit. You _know_ I’m right.”

“Okay, you are right. But I still think two weeks is too short a time to start concerning ourselves with what we’ll do if he gets himself into our grid and blows every fuse we have onboard.” Hooking an arm around her shoulders, he walked on with her. “Let’s take the scenic route to the shipbay, hm?”

Aleta supposed it would be nice to have a romantic walk with her husband. It had been a long time since their last. Letting her head fall into the crook of his shoulder, she wrapped an arm around his waist and walked the so-called scenic route with one of the only truly beautiful things left in her life.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stakar and Aleta ask the Guardians to do something for them. Akhila has suspicions about Gakhsi's disappearance. Gamora talks to Rocket about the importance of communication.

**SPACE**

Looking up into the Arcturan’s entirely straight face, Rocket asked for the third time; “Are you fucking _kidding_ me?” He knew it was probably annoying the shit out of Stakar, but didn’t much care. “You want me to share a ship with the guy who tried to set my kid on fire?”

“He only _tried_ to.” Aleta muttered.

“Aleta.” Stakar said wearily.

“Oh, sure. Yeah, he only _tried_ to, but what if he tries that shit again? Next time we might not be so lucky.”

“Oorg doesn’t have the kind of help Hank needs.” Stakar cut in before Aleta could reply. “We cut his hands because his skin had rotted and got all infected, but we’re not in a position to replace them. He needs prosthetics.”

“I don’t got a problem with Hank. Just his asshole kid.”

Stakar heaved out a sharp sigh. “I know. God, you think we’d ask if we weren’t desparate?”

Aleta leaned against the control console, folding her arms. For a moment, she so reminded Rocket of Quill that he wondered if maybe there was a relation somewhere down the line. “It’s not just Jacobs. Say by some miracle, he leaves his son behind and goes with you. Kylam’s looking for the Jotarasitahn and if he does find us, he’s going to have his technician back _and_ a viable weapon to progress.” She didn’t say anything after that. She didn’t have to. It was clear what she was saying; _‘Could you let someone else go through that?’_

 _‘Why the hell not?’_ he thought. _‘He tried to off my kid.’_ But she was right. He wouldn’t wish his creator’s talents on anyone, not even Blackjack. “I should’ve put a knife through Gax’s neck,” he muttered irritably. “Goddammit.” He looked at Quill. “What do you think?”

“We don’t leave him with Groot.” The Terran didn’t look happy about it either, but he seemed to have reached the same conclusion as Rocket had – that they couldn’t risk leaving Blackjack behind, just in case the worst did happen. “We don’t have a lot of choice here.”

“You’re tellin’ me.”

“It’ll be okay. It’s ten days to Xandar. We just throw ‘em at the nearest hospital and go to Lylla. You guys…might wanna avoid each other.”

 _“He_ better avoid _me.”_

Satisfied, now she’d gotten what she wanted, the Ravager captain peeled herself away from the console. “I think you’ll both find you’re on the same side,” she said, following her husband out. “We’ll tell Blackjack and Hank where to find you.”

* * *

**OORG**

“Hey.”

Akhila didn’t look up. When Raani sat by her, she turned her face away. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

“It’s gonna be alright,” he insisted.

“No, it’s not. I’m gonna have reporters at our door, asking how I feel that my twin’s alive.”

Raani was quiet for a moment. “How _do_ you feel?”

Akhila shrugged. “I don’t know.” She looked at her husband’s arm. “How do _you_ feel?”

Raani exhaled softly. “I made peace with losing my arm a long time ago. I feel…that your twin wasn’t in a position to say no. A lot of people are angry about the dogs, but I’m not. If you look at me right now and say you’re glad he’s alive, I’m not going to be mad about it.”

“You might feel differently when our boys are born and you can’t hold them properly.”

“I might,” he admitted. “But the fact remains I married you, not your brother and we still have a wonderful daughter and two adorable little guys on the way. He didn’t ruin my life. It’s a little harder, but I have a lot of good in it. Anyway,” he put his arm around her and squeezed her closer to him. “I very much doubt that he would have intentionally put you in danger. He loved you, a lot.”

“I know he did. You know, I can forgive the beasts he trained. But I can’t get my head around what he made. What he did. Our parents never lay a hand on us.”

Raani rubbed his shoulder against his jawbone. “I don’t think he learned torture techniques from your mama and papa.”

She turned her eyes to him, taking in his deeper blue ones. “When I was eight years old, I learnt that my father had another son born decades before us. I learnt that my mama would go to any length to reunite them. I didn’t think a lot of things about my parents, but I never thought that they would put us second. But they did when they brought Il-Sahn back to Oorg.”

Raani shifted uncomfortably. “In your father’s defence, I would rip every planet in the known universe apart if somebody took Dhar away.”

“They didn’t know who Il-Sahn was. They never thought twice about leaving him with us. He was raised by a sadist. Maybe he taught Gakhsi how to hurt people.”

“Your mama would’ve _killed_ him.”

Akhila couldn’t disagree. Her daughter’s namesake had been a force to be reckoned with. “There’s so much I don’t know about my own family. I just…I don’t want to learn something else horrible about someone I love.”

“I don’t know what you’re gonna learn.” Raani said. “But no matter what happens, I’m right here with you.” His hand curved around the small of her back, trying to ease the pain their twins were putting on her spine. “There’s something _I_ don’t get.”

“What’s that?” Akhila asked, though her mind was more focused on the massage. He’d always been good at them, even when they’d been teenagers. He would’ve made a great masseuse if he wasn’t so fond of computers.

“They must’ve known he wasn’t dead like…” Raani paused. Like many of them, he didn’t like to think of what had happened all those years ago. “Like the rest of them. Why did they say he was dead?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they thought he was. I was told as a child that his body got sucked into the sun.” Akhila shrugged, shaking her head a little. “I dunno. If I hadn’t been so messed up, I might’ve wondered how _he_ got pulled into the sun when the rest of them stayed floating above Oorg, but I didn’t think to ask about the logistics. I just knew my family was all gone.”

“You were eight, sweetness.” Raani squeezed her close to him. “I just…didn’t they even consider that maybe he had been kept by Kylam?”

“Are you saying they knew about it?” Akhila twisted her body so she could look t her husband. “No. They wouldn’t have abandoned him.”

“They let Kylam take Il-Sahn.”

“Because my father offended him. If they’d demanded Il-Sahn back, he would have brought war to us. What reason could they have for letting him keep my twin?”

“The same reason as they kept Il-Sahn. Because Kylam gave them a reason to let him keep what he stole.” Raani shook his head. “I’m probably talking crap. But something isn’t right about any of this.”

 _‘My god, what if that’s true? Did our government know?’_ Akhila touched his cheek with her knuckles, finding one of his dimples when he smiled at her. He was like a big cat, the way he melted when she touched his face. “I know you’re still in training, but they let you use the records, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” Raani struggled to find his composure, but then gave up. “But, you know, if I get caught looking at something I’m not meant to be looking at…”

“It’s records, not porn.”

“You joke, but someone actually did get fired for looking at that in work.”

“You wouldn’t think twice about looking if it was your sister.”

Raani’s eyes flickered away from hers and he turned his face away. “Dammit,” he said softly.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s…you’re right. I was thinking about her the other day, how crazy it is that Dhar’s only five years away from being the same age Jhul was when she was killed. She would’ve been a kickass aunt.” His hand rested on her belly, delicate over the thinning shell that protected their unborn children. “I think if it turned out that they knew, lied to you about your brother being dead…it’d be too much. If not for you, for the boys.”

“Raani, I’m going to see my twin – who I thought was dead _twice_ \- in less than three weeks from now. Nothing in the world could be as big as that.” Gesturing to her bump, she added; “Excluding these two, of course.”

“Are you sure you want to see him?”

“Yes. If he hadn’t looked out for me that day, I’m sure my children would have been blue-skinned and born with hair.” Akhila touched her own scalp, which was as smooth as ever. “I have to honour what he did for me.”

Raani swallowed as he took in what she meant. “I’ll try to look for the records and see what went on at the time.”

“Thank you.”

“You know, you might not like what I find in there.”

“But you’ll tell me the truth, whatever it is, right?”

“Yes,” he said. “I promise.”

* * *

**SPACE**   
  


The only reason he didn’t immediately start shooting when someone walked up behind him was because he could see green reflected in the window. Groot stirred, thumb in mouth, and then yawned before settling into deeper sleep.

“They’re onboard.”

“Fuck.”

Gamora sat on the window ledge, using the tip of her finger to ease Groot’s thumb out of his mouth. When he instantly put it back in, she chuckled softly. Then she looked at Rocket who was staring irritably out the window. “I know how you feel.”

“No you don’t.”

“Of course I do. Remember when we got Nebula from the Sovereign?”

“Nebula didn’t try to set your kid on fire.” Rocket muttered. “You just didn’t like seein’ her ‘cause it reminded you of Thanos.”

“I didn’t like seeing her because I didn’t think I could trust her.”

“And you think I can trust Blackjack?”

“You guys share an enemy.” Gamora brought a foot up to the ledge and turned so they could look at each other’s faces. “I seem to remember we all shared an enemy and did some awful things to each other before we could call each other friends.”

“Gamora, he tried to set Groot on fire.”

“And now he’s going to be sharing a ship with us for over a week.”

Rocket put his hands over his face, dragging his lower eyelids downwards. “Oh, god. This is gonna be hell. Maybe we can all get on pods and leave him here.”

“Since when do you run from your problems?”

“I always run if I can’t fight. I spent so much time running around in that lab that my leg muscles developed quicker than my brain did.”

“You don’t have to fight this problem. You’d be surprised how many resentments can be talked through.”

“Gamora, I know it worked for you and Nebula, but a heart-to-heart isn’t gonna change what we did to each other. I still caused Blackjack’s sisters to die and he still tried to burn Groot alive.”

“I caused Nebula to become mutilated and hurt for most of her life and she tried to murder you.”

“So you _did_ care about that.”

Gamora gave him one of her sharp looks, warning him not to be a smartass. “My point is even though there’s bad blood, it can be fixed.” She looked intently into his eyes. “Don’t waste time like I did with Nebula.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackjack helps out his father. Rocket and Blackjack discuss their past.

“This is what we’ve come to.” Blackjack said wryly, razor in one hand, shaving foam in the other. “Pop, you could look like you trust me a little bit, ya know.”

“I do.” Hank said weakly. “Just… _please_ don’t cut my carotids.”

“Of course I won’t. What do you take me for?” Blackjack wasn’t too confident himself, but his dad did not look good with a full beard. Something had to be done. Straightening his spine, he crouched on the table to figure out the best angle, where to shear away the growth of hair. “Um…where do I start here? I can’t seem to remember how you have it normally.”

“It’s been a long time.” Hank admitted. “Start by the jawline and I’ll tell you where to keep going.”

Relieved to have a plan, Blackjack dabbed the white lather onto his dad’s cheekbone. He was now starting to regret his offer. What did he know about shaving? Nothing much. Aside from watching in curiosity when he’d been little, he’d never paid much attention. Now he was about to take a stab at it and wished he’d been more attentive. Taking in a deep breath, he concentrated on his father and moved the razor towards his face.

“No, not dry, son. You need to put the razor in water or it’ll catch on my stubble.”

“Oh.” So that was what the jug was for. Splashing the razor into the water carefully, he waited a couple of seconds before going back to his dad, razor high.

“Sorry, you gotta shave kinda up. Go against the grain, not with it.”

“Right.” Finally having an idea of what to do, Blackjack breathed out and started shaving up, trying not to flinch at the weird noises coming from his dad’s face. “Doesn’t this hurt?”

“No.” Hank said, doing his best to avoid moving his lips. “Feels a little weird but it’s painless.”

Glad to hear it, Blackjack felt most of the tension leave his tiny body as he continued. “How do you do everything now? Like getting dressed and stuff?”

“The Ravagers had a pair of elasticated pants, so I don’t need to use fine motor skills. And I was always a T-shirt guy anyway. Thank god I was wearing slip-on shoes when we got nabbed.”

“Yeah, that’s the lucky part of this whole misadventure.” Blackjack said. “I still can’t believe you headbutted that guy to get us out of there.”

“I wasn’t gonna pass up an opportunity to get you outta there – ah!”

Blackjack’s hand had slipped, following faraway slam that had the fur on his back standing upright. As blood spurted from Hank’s cheekbone, he swore a word that had his father glaring at him. “What?”

“Goddammit, Blackjack. You know I hate that word.”

“Who the hell’s crashin’ around at this hour?” Blackjack asked irritably, grabbing a nearby dish towel for his dad’s cut. “God’s sake. You’re going to look a right piece of work by the time the night’s through.”

Hank sighed out through his nose. “Thank you so much.”

Moving to the other side, the little blue Uplift started scraping away the thick growth of stubble. “It’s loud as hell on this ship,” he said conversationally. “Pop, don’t you think?”

“It was loud as hell in the lab, sometimes.” Hank shut up long enough for Blackjack to finish and sighed out with relief. “That’s better. Back to my goatee.”

“Your chin’s lookin’ a bit thick.”

“It’s okay.” Hank said, quickly. His cheekbone was burning where the razor had nicked it and he didn’t fancy his chances that Blackjack wouldn’t accidentally cut his throat. “Thank you for the help.”

“It was fine.” Before his dad could do anything dumb like get embarrassed because he needed help, Blackjack added; “Kinda had fun.”

“Maybe you could get a career as a barber.”

“I’m a better hacker if that cut’s anything to go by. I wonder if there’s any bandaids around here.”

“It’ll be fine. It’s just a little nick.” Hank used his elbows to hook his shaving stuff close to his chest and stood, knees creaking.

 _‘You told me when that son of a bitch started cutting your fingers off that it was just a little nick. Now look at you.’_ Blackjack thought as he watched his dad walk away. His dad was not a sharer when things were wrong. He meant well, but it was always a dumb move because _of course_ Blackjack could tell if something was bad. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked around. Where was the medbox? There had to be one somewhere, right? He scanned the room and caught sight of a green corner welded to the wall in the kitchen area. Metal toes clacking gently against the solid steel flooring, he went to the box and stared up at it. It was five feet above the ground. He was only considered three feet tall because of the fact his ears stuck up an inch above his head. “God’s sake,” he muttered. “Tall people.”

“You’d think with legs like yours, you could jump a couple feet in the air.”

Blackjack almost demonstrated, alarmed by the voice. He’d not known he had company. He found Rocket easily enough, standing on the tall unit, a bottle of…something in his hand. “Pop’s got a cut.”

“That wasn’t very smart of him.”

“Ah, fuck you.”

“On your to-do list?”

Despite himself, Blackjack grinned. Quickly smoothing his features, he tried scowling at the other Uplift, but it was too late. Rocket knew he’d found it funny and was now smirking at him in an infuriatingly self-satisfied way. “How desperate do you think I am?”

“You’re the one who brought it up first.”

Stonily, Blackjack pointed at the medbox. “How do I get that thing down?”

“Does he really need a bandaid? Quill cuts himself shaving all the time and he just lets it bleed all over the place.”

“Yes, he needs a bandaid. Why is this thing up so high?”

“Don’t look at me. It was this way when we got the ship.” Rocket left the bottle behind and stood at the edge of the unit. Blackjack hoped he would fall off it. “To your left, there’s a grabber. Long stick, claws on the end. It’s the single most important piece of equipment we have on this ship. Very useful for getting things down when idiots put ‘em too high.”

“Thanks,” Blackjack muttered, snatching the thing. It was easy enough to operate, but getting the medbox down was a struggle. It was heavier than he’d anticipated and it crashed on the floor so loudly, he expected he’d woken up everyone onboard.

“You’re not very coordinated, are you?”

Blackjack ignored him and started sifting through the contents. Cough mixture, pills for just about every inconvenience, gauze and a roll of medical tape. And no goddamn bandaids. “Why haven’t you got any bandaids in this?”

“There’s bandaids in there. Don’t be stupid.”

“Look in here and tell me there’s bandaids.”

With an irritable sigh, Rocket leapt down, landing for a moment on all fours. Standing up again, he went to the medbox, looking through it. “Huh. You’re right.”

“I told you so.”

“How deep is it? This cut on your technician?”

“My dad,” Blackjack said pointedly, “has a fairly shallow cut, but it’s bleeding a lot.”

“On his face, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Face wounds bleed a lot. He’ll be fine.”

Blackjack frowned. “How d’you know he cut his face?”

“I could hear you guys talking and looked in. You were holding Drax’s favourite dish towel to his face so I figured you cut him.”

Blackjack looked down. “I didn’t mean to.”

“He’s a tough guy. He’ll probably live.” Rocket shut the medbox and pushed it against the wall. “If that’s all, I’m gonna get back to drinkin’. Groot’s with Gamora tonight, so good luck burnin’ him alive tonight. She’s the lightest sleeper on this ship.”

“I’m sorry.” As Rocket stopped, mid-turn, Blackjack bunched his hands into fists, just in case Rocket tried to stab him again. “It wasn’t fair, it was wrong of me and I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Why did you do it?”

Blackjack swallowed. “I thought it’d make me feel better.”

“And did it?” Rocket’s voice was cold, but his eyes blazed. _“Did_ it make you feel better?”

“No.” Blackjack answered. There was a tremor in his voice he couldn’t hide. “There was a side of me I never knew I had. I really…hated that side of me.”

“So did I.” Rocket mumbled, sounding like he was talking about something completely different. He scratched behind his pointed ear and then pointed to a small refrigerator. “Beer’s in there if you want one.”

Blackjack hesitated. His dad wasn’t much of a drinker and, by default, neither was he. It wasn’t that he wasn’t allowed, it was more that alcohol wasn’t so easily accessible. He took one out and stared at the metal, jagged cap in bewilderment. “How the _hell_ do you open these?”

“Bite it. Use your bottom teeth to hold it in place and hook your incisors over the cap. It should come off easy.”

It did come off easy and he was immediately hit with the malty scent. It was not what he would call a pleasant smell, but he tried some anyway. It tasted _vile._

Rocket started laughing at the face he pulled. “God, did you never drink before or somethin’?”

“No, I was raised right.”

“And look how you’ve turned out.” Rocket muttered, downing the rest of his beer. “Look how we both turned out. You tried to burn a kid alive and I pretty much offed your sisters.”

“Mmph.” Blackjack chanced another try of the beer. It still tasted evil and he sucked in his cheeks to rid the flavour. _‘Do I tell you it wasn’t your fault or what?’_ It was always better to ‘fess up and take responsibility when mistakes were made, but this mistake had almost led to something horrible. He didn’t want to get the other Uplift mad with him again. “It wasn’t…it wasn’t really your fault.”

“It was bad.” Rocket’s voice didn’t waver, but there was something brittle in it. “Did your father ever hurt you?”

Things like shots and having repairs on his legs hurt, but Blackjack didn’t think Rocket meant stuff like that. “No.”

“Mine did. You know how some kids can’t do any wrong? I couldn’t do any right. All I wanted was to get out of there. I had a clear head when _planning_ the escape, I just didn’t bank on having a mental breakdown on the actual day. I never meant to separate families or hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” It was all Blackjack could think to say. “Start over?”

Rocket looked into the neck of his emptied bottle. “Can we do that?”

“A revenge cycle got us into this mess. If it stops now, maybe things’ll be okay one day.”

Rocket slid the bottle across the unit so it shot into the garbage disposal located four feet up. “Alright. We could start over. But you’ll have to understand, I don’t want you anywhere near Groot.”

“That’s fair.”

Rocket jumped back down, heading to the little refrigerator. “You’re supposed to drink beer quickly, by the way. Savouring is for wine, cocktails and whiskey.”

“Why are you even drinking at this hour? Were you programmed to not sleep or something?”

“No. I got up for a beer ‘cause I felt like one. Now I’m havin’ another.”

Blackjack looked at his own with disdain. “Mind if I leave mine?”

“It’s okay, you’re probably more of a wine guy. Just leave it there. Someone’ll pick it up in the morning.”

“Hope it’s the same prick that used the last bandaid and didn’t replace it.” All the same, he carried the bottle around to the disposal unit and left it underneath. There was no point in being petty. “I’d best go check on my dad.”

“Yeah, he might’ve bled to death from the cut you gave him.”

“Piss off!” Blackjack snapped. “I hope you cut the roof of your mouth on one of them tabs.”

“The blood’ll add flavour, then, won’t it?” Rocket chuckled darkly.

 _‘I’m gonna have to spend a bunch of weeks with this drunken lunatic.’_ Blackjack thought grimly. _‘How the hell am I gonna survive this?’_


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Darkwing faces an unlikely foe in the Jotarasitahn. Stakar and Aleta have fun together. Kylam works things out.

_The Jotarasitahn_  
9 days from Oorg

“We’re being followed.”

Stakar lowered his eyes from the view of empty space to the AI. Mainframe was rarely wrong. She often connected herself to their devices to help them scan better. If she said something was following them, it was vital to learn more about it, even if he couldn’t see it on the radar screens. “A ship?”

“It’s difficult to tell. It’s very large and is moving as quickly as the Jotarasitahn.”

“Any estimations for this object?” Milliseconds after he’d asked, something crashed into the starboard side of the ship, rocking it. He closed his eyes and then looked at Mainframe again. “Did you hear that?”

“I did. I think it _is_ a ship, Captain.” Mainframe said.

“I think you might be right.” Stakar pulled a lever to force the ship to move faster and pulled the speaker down to Mainframe’s level. “Would you do the honours?”

“Yes.” Mainframe’s right headpiece moved and hooked itself to the speaker to bring it closer to her mouth. “Don’t panic. We are under attack.”

It was amazing that Mainframe’s crew didn’t all have some form of anxiety, Stakar thought, listening to her speech. At least she knew her shit enough to organise everybody. Her memory excelled that of everybody onboard combined. She knew who were the best shooters, who were the best pilots and who were the best lookouts out of the several thousand on the ship. “- and Gonny, I need you check for damages on the starboard side of the ship.” She turned herself to look at Stakar. “Captain, do you need anyone?”

Stakar adjusted the speed again. He could see flashes that had skimmed the sides of the Jotarasitahn. God knew what the ship was going to look like when all this was said and done. He glanced at the speedometer. 350,000 kilometres an hour. Maybe Quill had been right and they needed a faster ship. Goddammit. “Where’s our bounty?”

“What do you need him for?”

“Because if we’re boarded – which we might be – I don’t really want to make it too easy for Kylam to grab him and run.”

Using her steel arm, Mainframe pushed the speaker away from herself. “I don’t know if the placebo effect will work if he has a front seat view of an epic space battle.”

“You never know. It might be so epic that he’ll forget to be scared.”

“Hmm.” Mainframe used her wheel to roll herself to the surveillance area. Her eyes turned yellow and she was silent as others filed in, giving her space as they did. “Helping the swabbers.”

 _“They’re still swabbing?”_ Stakar asked in disbelief. He grabbed the speaker. “Those of you still swabbing, _stop_ it. Whoever’s attacking us ain’t gonna be inspecting the floor. I need one of you to bring our bounty up to the flight deck.” He turned the speaker off and sighed heavily as Aleta hurled herself into the seat next to him. “Under attack and they’re still moppin’ the floor. Give me _strength…”_

“We can still get out of this.” Aleta reminded him. She eyed the speed. “The Darkwing is a fast ship.”

“I know it is. With his money, it’s probably a lot faster than ours.”

Aleta nodded and rested her hands on the steering column. “We might need to rely on manoevures unless we want that cuckold to visit us.”

A voice behind them asked; “What’s a cuckold?”

Aleta glanced over her shoulder at their bounty. “Stakar will tell you later.”

Just his goddamn luck. He was damned if he was the one telling him. He looked back at the Aakonian whose eyes were narrowed at the window as if bright light was pouring in. “Gakhsi, hold onto that handle on the wall. Things are about to get fun.”

Laughing wildly, Aleta turned the steering column sharply to her right and then jammed it down, the ship obeying her touch. “Catch us if you can!”

Stakar looked at the empty chair by the mapping screen. “Where the hell’s N’taga?”

“I’m here!” Martinex ran in, running his jagged fingertips over the screen. “I had a hard time getting up the stairs because _someone_ drives like crazy.”

“I found it enjoyable.” Mainframe said cheerily.

Aleta glanced at Martinex. “If you didn’t drive like a little old woman, it could be you flying right now.”

“You’re a little old woman and look how you fly.”

Aleta flipped him off and whooped as she narrowly manipulated the Jotarasitahn through a belt of asteroids. “That’ll slow him down,” she said triumphantly. “Martinex, where are we?”

“Close to Hala, so I wouldn’t celebrate just yet. Start descending. We’re better off taking the scenic route to his galaxy.”

“The scenic route?” Aleta repeated. She pulled the column towards herself to lower the ship. “What’s there?”

“It’s got asteroid fields, a huge star that’ll try to suck us into it, a space dragon…”

“You’d think he’s bullshitting, but there actually is one.” Stakar said, noticing Aleta’s doubting expression. “But we can get through it. The Darkwing is bigger. It won’t find it so easy.”

“Oh, I didn’t think we couldn’t get through it. I just thought he was making stuff up.”

Stakar looked at the fuel gauge. It was lower than he liked. “There’s also a place to get more fuel,” he said pointedly. “We’ll need to go pretty far down.”

There was less to hide behind the further they descended. Shots hit at the ship, explosions made it shake and Aleta’s face turned grim as she continued trying to outmanoeuvre the Darkwing. At a hit that resulted in warning lights flashing for the second quadrant, she swore. “We need to send people out. She can’t take anymore.”

“We send people out, he’ll send people out.” Martinex pointed out. “Can we afford that?”

“We can’t afford for this ship to get blasted to pieces for us all to die of space exposure!”

“Knock it off!” Stakar warned. “Arguing like a bunch of kids won’t get us anywhere.” He pushed the speed as high as it would go – something he’d hoped to avoid, given their low fuel - and looked at their bounty. It was a long shot, but they were fast running out of options. “Gakhsi, is there anything you know about the Darkwing?”

“I don’t…know.”

There was doubt in his words. Stakar could hear it. Standing, he abandoned his post and went to the Aakonian who backed a few steps until his back met the wall. “You do,” he insisted. “You do know. Most warships are good for a decade. They might need maintenance a couple times a year, but everything pretty much stays the same. Now. I know you had a tough time on the Darkwing and don’t want to remember anything about it, but the fact is you do. You remember something he said or you saw. I really need you to tell me what it was, son.”

“When…Jhul-” he stopped and lowered his eyes from the windshield. “Her lungs didn’t stay inside her. Kylam said she was like the Darkwing because her lungs…”

“On the outside. So he keeps his oxygen in tanks welded to the outside, does he?” Stakar looked at Aleta, whose eyes were fixed to the windshield. “If you fly underneath the Darkwing, we can send people out once we’re underneath her. I don’t know where the Darkwing’s lungs are, but they’re probably beneath her. Top of a ship’s more vulnerable than the underbelly.”

“Can I make the announcement again?” Mainframe asked, hope in the metallic twang of her voice.

“Sure.” 

“Why keep oxygen on the outside?” Aleta puzzled aloud as she rested her palm on the steering control.

“Sometimes,” Mainframe said, pulling down the speaker, “it’s safer. Oxygen burns and if there was a fire onboard, it wouldn’t be so dangerous outside the ship as it would be inside it.”

“You would still have pipes carrying the air supply.” Martinex said.

“Yes, but there wouldn’t be a large supply of a flammable substance.” Mainframe paused for a second and then her screen lit up yellow as she focused her attention on giving orders. “Arna, go to Fighter Two. Tris, Jarl, I need you to both co-pilot Jet Nine. Riis, go to Fighter Eight and Aluk, you go to Fighter Twelve. On my command, you _must_ be ready to leave the Jotarasitahn. You have two minutes-” A sudden slam that jolted the entire ship made her dim and then light up again. “You have one minute to prepare and then the ship will be performing a wingover. Be fast, but be careful.”

“You’re getting so _good_ at those.” Aleta said. She said it casually enough, but Stakar knew his wife enough. She was proud as hell of the AI.

“Aleta, I’m a _captain.”_

“Still.”

If Mainframe had eyes, Stakar was sure she would have rolled them. He, for one, could see Aleta’s point, but he wasn’t about to tell Mainframe that for fear of pissing her off. He adjusted the gravity in an attempt to make sure there wouldn’t be much of a mess left after the manoeuvre was completed. It didn’t matter if stuff got broken, but he didn’t really want to be cleaning up bodies of those who hadn’t enough time to hang onto something. Speaking of which… “Use both hands to hang on,” he instructed their bounty. “Increased gravity means you shouldn’t fly around as much, but that doesn’t mean you won’t move. As soon as the ship starts going up, you hold on because we’re gonna be upside down for a while.”

“I can make it spin if you want.” Aleta chuckled darkly. “I would love to fly into that asshole’s ship.”

“You’d kill us all.” Martinex pointed out. He was now using the visuals so he could see the underside of the Darkwing when it came into view.

“Not all.” Mainframe said. “With your durability, you’d probably survive.”

Aleta snorted. “Mainframe, get back on the speaker and count back from twenty. I’m about to show you all how this little old woman flies.”

The crew would understand what the countdown was for. They may not have been geniuses, but they weren’t stupid. Stakar watched Aleta, the focus in her eyes, the relaxed strength as she handled the controls. How long since he’d watched her manoeuvres? Too damn long. He was about to see something truly spectacular and he knew it.

“Ten…Nine…Eight…Seven…Six…Five…Four…Three…Two…One…Now!”

The ship arched, pulling them all back in spite of the gravity. It lunged forward, showing them the underside of a massive warship. It was entirely smooth, but as they drew closer, they could see four large rectangular objects bulging out from the ship. Closer inspection showed Martinex which were their target and he pointed at them to confirm. “The central two are the ones we need to take out. The other two are non-vital.”

“Go!” Mainframe ordered and there were four ships darting out before them, each bearing the flames of the various clans. Aleta’s green, Charlie’s yellow, Mainframe’s silver, his blue.

 _‘But no red.’_ Stakar thought. Damn it. Yondu would’ve loved the idea of wrecking a Kree warship. Even if there hadn’t been the opportunity to do so, nothing could stop him from giving the middle finger to the people who’d owned him. God knew he’d tried.

Aleta reached over and pinched his arm. When he looked at her, she jabbed her thumb toward their bounty. “You know I can’t deal with fainters when I’m flying.”

“He’s not gonna faint.” Stakar said and then he actually looked at the Aakonian and conceded that she was right. “Hey. Breathe. Everything’s fine. Let go of the tabs and sit on the floor by somebody. You won’t be able to see what’s going on from there.” He was surprised when Gakhsi chose to stay by him. Generally speaking, most ex-slaves tended to make a beeline for Aleta, especially if they were escaping a male master. Shifting his attention back to the scene before them, he reached out for the burners, watching as the Jotarasitahn’s guns fired lasers at the oxygen tanks on the Darkwing, weakening the protective metal. He narrowed his eyes at small, dark shapes that were beginning to surround the fighters they’d sent out. “Looks like we’ve got company.” In a swiping motion, the lasers burned out one half of the Kree fighters. The other half came zooming toward the Jotarasitahn. Stakar had to smirk. “I bet Kylam’s pullin’ his hair out at that one.”

As if on cue, the fighters all started turning back, but it was too late. They were far enough from the Ravagers Mainframe had sent and close enough to the Jotarasitahn that the Ravager mothership was able to use her guns to obliterate all that was left. Aleta smiled coldly. _“Now_ he’s pulling his hair out.”

The intercom close to Martinex crackled. “Captain – uncovered tanks – them now. Have to – ready to leave – big one!”

It was a big one. The blackness was replaced by burning orange-red light as fire replaced what had been making the Darkwing’s air breathable. As the ship was eaten away by the flames, the smaller spacecrafts returned to the Jotarasitahn. Kree craft poured out of the destroyed Darkwing, but it didn’t matter. Their primary forces were depleted and the mothership was down.

Aleta turned the Jotaraitahn around. It had been a long time since Stakar had seen her look so peaceful. “That was fun,” she said contentedly.

“We showed him.” Martinex agreed. He was looking at the maps again. “We should carry on with the scenic route. I’m sure he will search for us even harder now.”

Unfortunately, the Pluvian was right. The chances that maybe the warlord had died in the explosion were zero. Kylam wasn’t the kind of person to save his crew over himself. “He can search all he wants,” Stakar said grimly. “He ain’t finding anybody.” He bent forward to touch Gakhsi’s shoulder. “Party’s over. You okay getting up?”

One leg wouldn’t stop shaking, but he stood. He didn’t complain, but it was clear that he was wondering why he hadn’t hidden himself somewhere on Halfworld. If he wasn’t so scared of space, Stakar was sure he’d have stolen a fighter and left long ago.

Aleta looked over. The victorious smile was still there, but she tried to be reassuring. “It’s okay. You did great. You didn’t even pass out. Let’s get you somewhere in the centre of the ship so you can’t see outside.”

“Thank you.”

"It's fine."

He started to head off, following Mainframe, and then stopped, looking back at them. “Is the Darkwing really _gone?”_

“Yup. Nothing left of her now. That doesn’t mean we’re out of danger yet, but it’s a start.”

“He has another warship.”

“Asshole probably has hundreds. Don’t worry about that until they all start shooting at us.” Aleta pointed a nail-bitten finger at the exit. “Now, quit stalling and get the hell out of my flight deck.”

* * *

He had not expected that. Now the adrenaline had left his system, he rested back in his seat and gazed at the horizon, eyes following an invisible trail. It was a true pity to lose the Darkwing, but all the Darkwing was, had ever been, was a means to an end. An expensive one, but he wasn’t dead yet and that meant his plan was still in motion. Nothing could or would stop it.

Not that things were going as he’d planned them to. He was still down a technician and, what was worse, the technician in question had betrayed the Darkwing, betrayed her secrets, _betrayed his master..._

The warlord stilled the air in his lungs and huffed out slowly. He was getting angry and that was no good – at least not until he had his slave returned to him. He calmed himself by thinking of how he would kill the Ravagers. Each and every one, before their captains, then the captains themselves, like he’d promised. He didn’t know which he’d kill last. Maybe he’d let them choose which to die first. The thought cheered him considerably. He could still remember Ilsa begging for her lover’s life to be spared. _‘He has my heart,’_ she’d cried. Well, that he certainly did. The whole bloody mass of it had been thrown onto his chest for him to find when he awoke from his unconsciousness.

The warlord only wished that he’d been there to see his face when he’d awoken.

Perhaps he could ask Starhawk which of them had the other’s heart. The first to answer would get to hold it. Perhaps it would even pulse with blood. Ilsa’s had, for a fleeting moment. It had been quite unnerving, even for him, holding his wife’s dying heart.

But she had deserved it, of course. And her lover. They had wronged him, like the Ravagers had, like Starhawk had.

Like Fifteen had.

The difference was that at least Fifteen was useful to him.

But where was he? Onboard some filthy Ravager ship, consorting with criminals and lowlifes. The thought disgusted the warlord. What did they even want with him? What could possibly be in it for them, especially after his offer?

As the cold blue curve of his home planet swelled into view, memories came to the surface of his mind.

_‘I want to go home.’_

_‘I want my sister!’_

_‘This isn’t my home.’_

_“No…_ Akhila.”

All at once, everything clicked together. He fully understood now. Home to Fifteen was the barren dustland he’d been born on. Home was what he’d wanted for the past fifteen years. Home was the sister he’d killed for. _“Home,”_ the warlord uttered softly. “I’ll bring you home, my child.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocket and Peter discuss family matters. Kylam offers a second chance.

A piloting seat was home to him. Maybe it was a little sad, but Rocket didn’t particularly care. From where he was sat, he could see the expanse of space all around him. Horizons he’d never been before, places he couldn’t imagine. He’d seen a lot of them, but there was always more. That was the thing about the universe. No matter how many things you thought were there, the darkness of it held a quadrillion times that. “When all this is over, maybe we could go somewhere new,” he said to Quill who was absently listening to the Zune as he piloted next to him.

“Where?”

“I dunno. Somewhere different. Where have you never been?”

The Terran was silent in thought. “Pluto.”

“Pluto? That’s not a place. It’s not even a _planet.”_

“Bullshit, it’s not a planet. It orbits around the sun. That makes it a planet.”

“It’s not a real planet. A real planet is big enough that its orbital pull can kick the shit out of anything comin’ near it. You get a comet on that little rock you call a planet and it’ll _shatter.”_

“Who the hell told you that?”

“The real question is, who the hell didn’t tell _you_ that?”

Under his breath, Quill muttered; “You’re eight, so what the hell do you know?”

“A lot more than you do, that’s for sure.”

Quill didn’t look convinced. He glanced from the black view to Rocket. “Seriously. Where would you wanna go? There’s gotta be some place.”

“Somewhere hi-tech. Artificial planets are always pretty cool.”

The Terran turned his head to look at him properly. “Did you…did you ever find out where your mom came from?”

“No. Why?”

“I thought we could see it one day. If you wanted to.”

“I don’t really care where she came from. Wherever she came from, nobody missed her when she left it. What do I have to gain from going there?”

Quill shrugged. “Closure?”

“Heh.” Rocket stretched his arms out. “No, I’m good. About the only place I wanna get to right now is Xandar.” Reaching to his left, he pulled down the locator screen to check their progress. Three days away from Lylla.

“She’ll be fine, Rock. Even if that asshole sends people to get her.”

“Aleta said Lylla won’t accept guards around her home.”

“That’s probably ‘cause she’s building something illegal.”

Rocket let himself laugh. “Yeah, I’ll bet she is. No, she’s…she doesn’t like to rely on people. She doesn’t remember a lot of life before the prick who made her, but she relied on him for…well, everything. I think it must scare her to need somebody again.”

Quill was looking at him strangely. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “You might be right.”

“I’m always right and for some reason, it always surprises you when I am.”

There was no comeback this time. Quill just rubbed under his chin, looking diffident. Then he pressed his hand over the autopilot button and stood, arching his back. “It’s a steady course for a couple hours. Time to take a break.”

“What about keeping watch?”

“I’ll ask Mantis. She likes keeping watch.”

“She’ll be callin’ for us every time she sees a star,” Rocket muttered, but maybe Pete was right and it was time to call it a day. He was starting to get tired, which meant it was time to make coffee up. No chance was he sleeping. No chance at all. The irony that there had been no bad dreams on Halfworld, but horrifying images flickered behind his eyelids whenever he tried closing them was not lost on him.

The glass jug was just filling with hot water, steam and the bitter scent lifting into the air, when Quill came back. He looked at the jug. His eyebrows furrowed. “You’re not gonna be able to sleep with all that in your system.”

“I ain’t tired.”

Instead of arguing the point like Rocket expected, Quill just shrugged and brought out a second mug. “Neither am I. There’s a really old bottle of whiskey Stakar left in this ship when he swapped with us. Ever had whiskey and coffee together before?”

“No, but there’s always a first time.” Rocket watched in fascination as the Terran reached up and barely managed to grab down a tall, thin bottle of dark brown liquid from the top of the refrigerator. “I can’t believe that was up there all this time and I never found it.”

“Not such a boozehound any more, huh?”

“Screw you.”

“Just saying.” Quill broke the seal and poured a quarter of it into the coffee jug. “Pass me your cup.”

When his cup was passed back to him, Rocket sniffed the steaming surface. It smelled kinda good, so he flicked out his tongue to taste it. “Not bad.”

“And I’ll bet you had doubt in me.” Quill crouched down and folded his legs to sit by him. He cradled his own cup in his hands and breathed out. “See? I know things, too.”

“Sometimes you do.”

Quill just smiled a little and drank his coffee-whiskey concoction. When Rocket finished his own, he reached up for the whiskey bottle, filling their cups. “I’m sure Stakar would kill us for drinking it like this.”

“What he don’t know won’t hurt him.” It was good stuff, Rocket realised, now he was drinking it without coffee. The _real_ shit. For a moment, he wondered if the Ravager had deliberately left it for them as an act of invisible affection. For Yondu’s kid. He scowled a little and started drinking again. He didn’t want to think of slaves and Kree and all the other horrors in the universe.

“It’s been a rough time, hasn’t it?”

“Shit happens.”

“You know you’re allowed to be scared, right?” Quill’s face was serious. “I know you’re having a hard time sleeping, Rock.”

“You don’t know shit. I’m doing fine.”

“I couldn’t sleep either.” Pete said. It came out too quickly, like he was in a rush to say it, but Rocket still heard him loud and clear. “Back when you were gone.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. Stress, fear, guilt. All pretty good demotivators for sleeping.”

“Okay, stress, I get. But what did you have to feel guilty about?”

“Because I lost you, you dumbass.” Now Quill became a bit more animated. Of a sudden, he looked every part of his thirty-four years. “I lost you.”

 _‘Oh, great.’_ Rocket thought. _‘Now he’s gonna get all emotional on me. Goddammit.’_ “You found me, didn’t you?”

“I shouldn’t have left. I should’ve stayed.”

“No. He would’ve murdered you, Pete. There’s nothin’ worth that.”

“Rock.” Quill’s voice was slurred now and a glance at his cup, held loosely in his hand, told Rocket that he’d downed it at some point. Not to be outdone, he started drinking his own. He wasn’t going to be outdrank by a Terran. “Rocket…I’m your…your…”

“Captain, as you’ve told me a billion times.”

“No. Yeah, but also no. I’m more than captain. I’m family.” He thumped at his own chest with both hands, letting his cup drop. “And family looks out for each other and I didn’t do that and I’m sorry.”

“You become so much _dumber_ when you’re drunk. Pete, nobody knew I was havin’ trouble. I could’ve called, but I didn’t.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because it would’ve got you killed. And I don’t know if I could live with that.”

“What the hell makes you think we could? You know, we had a whole thing last year where you were like a second away from dyin’ and I thought _that_ might be enough to make you know we value your goddamn life, but _no-o-o.”_

“Oh, come on, Quill. That was way different to this.”

“No, it’s not. I mean…you _gotta_ ask your family for help. Why _wouldn’t_ you? It’s literally part of the job description. We _help each other.”_

“You did help. I ain’t there now, am I?”

“Yeah, well…well, don’t fuckin’ do it again.”

It was so rare for Quill to drop the F bomb that Rocket took him seriously. “Alright. I won’t do it again.”

“You better not, ‘cause I’ll take you off dish duty _forever_ if you do.”

“Okay, Pete.” Dumbass Terran. Getting all paranoid and emotional just because…well, maybe Rocket could see his point. He, himself, hadn’t been much better lately. He batted at Quill’s hand as the man jabbed his shoulder with his pinky finger. “Hey! What are you doing?”

“Promise.” Quill slurred.

Sighing heavily, Rocket extended his own pinky and let Quill interlink their fingers. “I promise. Are you happy now?”

“Kinda.”

“Don’t tell me there’s something else the matter with you.”

“You gotta sleep, man. If you don’t, your head’ll explode.”

Rocket had to start laughing. “No, it won’t! What are you talking about?”

“With your metal brain, it might explode. You don’t know.”

Rocket glared at him for a solid minute and said; “Quill, if my head _was_ set to explode from lack of sleep, Gax would definitely have told me. He would’ve used it as leverage. It’s fine. _I’m_ fine. You’re just drunk.”

“No, no, look. I get why you find it hard right now. I’m absolutely not judging.”

“So why don’t you shut up about it?”

“Because I’m your family, you jackass. And you just promised you’d ask for help when you need it, which you do.”

Looking into his unfocused eyes, Rocket wondered exactly why he hadn’t staged a coup months ago and wrested the captain title away from Quill when he’d had the chance. Maybe this was it. Captain Rocket. He kinda liked that. But then he thought of all the whining that would follow and decided against it. “I keep seeing stuff when I close my eyes. Nothin’ stops it. Not booze, not music, not anything. It’s goddamn annoying.”

“What d’you see?”

“Gax.” Rocket admitted quietly. “And I tell myself ‘he ain’t like that now’, but it don’t matter. I remember what I remember and seein’ him…it’s all coming back and I can’t stop it.”

“Are you tired at all or does it scare you so much it keeps you alert?”

“I am tired.” Rocket exhaled deeply. “I am beyond tired, Pete.”

“Huh.” Quill fell into what Rocket recognised as one of his thoughtful silences. “I got an idea. When you next feel like you gotta sleep, find someone and tell them ‘I need to go to sleep. Will you stay with me?’”

“But that’ll be annoying-”

“Captain’s orders.”

“Oh, screw you, Pete.”

Quill grinned dopily and stretched out an arm to loosely place it around Rocket’s shoulders, far from his implants. “I know it annoys you when I say that, but if it works, it works. It won’t annoy anybody. Holy shit, Mantis would _kill_ to watch you sleep.”

“I ain’t askin’ her.” Rocket snapped, even though he knew he probably would. She was harmless and her powers did help, even though he hated that she could easily know how he felt. “But what about Blackjack and his dad?”

“What about ‘em? They know what kinda shit you had to put up with. And this is your home, not theirs. If they say anything, they can make their own way to Xandar.”

“Really? But Hank’s an Earther, like you are.”

“Hank’s really sweet and I like the dude, but my family comes a little before he does.”

“That’s nice, Pete.” Rocket meant it too. Maybe it was some kind of narcissism but he kinda liked being a priority. What could he say? It felt good. “I can try to do that thing.”

“I hope you do, buddy.” Quill smiled, drunken, but affectionately. “We’re here when you need us.”

* * *

_Ilsa  
7 days from Oorg_

“Despite everything, I am willing to give you a chance for redemption.”

At the warlord’s feet, his slave trembled. His mutilated scalp was thick with hardened blood. Scalping was not an easy thing to do and he had screamed and pled all throughout his punishment for failure, but there was nothing more than a thin layer of dried blood hiding the clear bones of his skull. The warlord was no amateur when it came to inflicting pain. Losing hair was painful in all ways to the people of Kylos.

Crouching down, the warlord held out his hands for the Kylorian to take. “Come to me. I will not harm you.”

Slowly, head held stiffly, his slave edged over. This one had never been a crier, but tears spilled out from his eyelids. When he was helped up, held so his jaw was able to rest comfortably on his master’s shoulder, he made gulping sounds, trying to hide his anguish.

“This will heal, Una. It always does.” True, it was only the second time in his life, but if it had healed once, it would heal again. “This happened to you for a reason. There is no need to be this emotional over it.”

“I never meant to let you down.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“I thought you were going to abandon me.”

“No, you fool. You’re one of my boys. I love you far too much to abandon you.” Straightening himself, he pushed the Kylorian back, though held his shoulders, knowing that he would only fall down if released. “I have a simple task for you. Even more simple than the one before.” There was no question from his slave and he continued. “I need you to collect an Uplift for me. It is an elderly, crudely made thing, but it was built to last and withstand, so it may yet be valuable. It lives alone and is elderly, as I said. It should be no trouble.”

“Are you sure you want me to do this?”

“Have I ever given an order when uncertain?”

Sensibly, the Kylorian shook his head, hissing at the sensation of cold air to his unprotected skull.

“You’re one of two I have left to me, Una. I’ll find your brother myself, but I am confident you will bring me back this Uplift – alive and unharmed. There is no risk attached to this.”

Una thought about it. He nodded. “I’ll do what it takes.”

“Of course you will.” The warlord moved his hand to brush over the crusted maroon blood on the Kylorian’s head. “It went by the name of 26L41 when it was first made. When it sees you, I expect it will be too afraid to put up much of a fight. Its maker was Kylorian.”

There was confusion in Una’s eyes. “My world hasn’t got the kind of technology to make Uplifts.”

“Oh, it wasn’t made on _Kylos._ It was designed on Halfworld. Now it lives on Xandar.” The warlord took the Kylorian’s shoulder and led him from the cell, down the multitude of passages. “The journey should take no longer than three days.”

Una didn’t nod, but made a humming noise to show his understanding. “I don’t understand. Why do you want a girl, Master? You’ve never had a female gladiator or fighter.”

“Oh, this one will be for research purposes. Any other females have uses in breeding, should they still be fertile.” He couldn’t lose another girl to the chances of battle.


End file.
